


pretend you're (not) in love

by thenewlondoner (muleumpyo)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Everyone Is Alive, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Jon and Sansa Are Not Related, Lyanna Snow is Jon Snow's mother, Lyanna is Not a Stark, Modern Westeros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-20 15:09:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19379218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muleumpyo/pseuds/thenewlondoner
Summary: "What do you think about dating Jon?" Arya asked.Jon made a sound like he was about to choke.Sansa gaped at her. "What?" she asked, voice gone several octaves higher. Her eyes flickered over to Jon and back. "Why?"Arya narrowed her eyes. Sansa's cheeks had flushed and pink was rapidly spreading down her neck.Interesting."I mean, fake dating him."Jon Snow, frontman of the famous band Direwolf, has broken up with his on-and-off girlfriend, the actress Daenerys Targaryen, for the last time. With his (and Daenerys') siblings' wedding coming up, and determined not to get pulled back into the relationship, he needs a romantic cover. A fake girlfriend.Enter: Sansa Stark.





	pretend you're (not) in love

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to the best writing squad @ w(p)w for being the greatest encouragement during this wild ride <3 this fic would not be the same without you and your sage advice so THANK YOU <3333 ur the best 
> 
> this has been one of the strangest writing experiences for me because i started this three weeks ago and now, 27k later.... we here. how did this happen? i don't know.
> 
> anyway, please enjoy!!

    

    

   

 

 

 

 

 

> **SNOW STORMS IN JUNE? JON SNOW AND DANY 'STORMBORN' TARGARYEN SPLIT AFTER EPIC FIGHT** **_Details inside._ **
> 
> _Four months after confirming their revived relationship at the 2019 Troubadour Awards, Jon Snow and Dany Targaryen are rumored to be on the rocks yet again. The musician and actress have not announced a split, but sources close to the pair have confirmed they have gone their separate ways._
> 
> _Is the powerhouse pair no more? The two became a couple more than 5 years ago, when Dany Targaryen had just made her mark as the breakout star of "The Dothraki", and frontman Jon Snow's Direwolf had signed to Winterfell Records in a seven-figure deal. That was three Golden Hand nominations, two Troubadour awards, and four official 'break-ups' ago._
> 
> _The couple appeared in good spirits at the Golden Hand Ceremony at the Red Keep Theatre in King's Landing just two months ago, where Dany Targaryen was nominated for a fourth Golden Hand for her supporting role as the Meereenian Princess in "The Three Dragons." But rumors circulated that things became rocky after the lost nomination, and the two were reported to have had a heated argument in the parking lot of Winterfell Records last month._
> 
> _A week later, paparazzi caught a shot of the two at The Southern Reach as they took in a late dinner, which fellow patrons reported as ending in raised voices. The pair left in separate cars, and have not been spotted in public together since._
> 
> _At the beginning of June, Dany Targaryen appeared solo for a week-long holiday at the Free Cities' Resort in Essos, where the pair had been snapped getting hot and heavy by the pool last June. Back in King's Landing, Jon Snow was seen getting groceries and lunching at the Dornish Hotel with longtime friends Robb Stark and Sam Tarly. The actress was notably absent from the Westeros Music Awards last week, where hubby Jon Snow's band Direwolf performed in collaboration with musical legend Benjen Stark._
> 
> _Does this spell the end of this storybook romance? The pair have never stayed together for longer than eight months and are known for their explosive arguments. But another source close to the two says despite recent troubles, the two are closer than ever and may have an exciting announcement on the horizon—_
> 
>  

"—well, that's some Tyrion Lannister bullshit right there.

 

"This stuff is just rubbish! Does anyone really read this?" Arya Stark asked as she flipped through the glossy pages of the magazine. All the photos were grainy and could easily be misinterpreted— especially given Jon's broody face and Daenerys' generally haughty look. Half of the photos were just two forms, one dark-headed and the other the trademark Targaryen blonde, behind various shrubbery. Hardly newsworthy.

 

Arya snorted and looked over at the man in question, who was lazing on the Stark family sitting room's other sofa, feet propped up on the coffee table. Propped up on his chest was another huge nonfiction tome. _The Battle of the Trident_ by Maester Aemon.

 

Thrilling, she was sure. "Hel _lo_?"

 

But her brother Robb's best friend and her longtime friend didn't even look up from his book. "Jon?" she called.

 

Jon's gaze didn't even waver. Maybe he was asleep.

 

"Jon!" She ripped out a page from the magazine— the one with Dany sitting by the poolside at The Free Cities in her metallic dragonscale swimsuit and a shot of Jon looking sad-slash-normal and carrying a paper bag of groceries to his car at the local shopping centre— crumpled it up and lobbed it at him. It bounced right off Jon's forehead.

 

His brow crinkled and he finally looked up. "What was that for?" he asked, sounding wounded.

 

Arya made an exasperated face. "To get your attention, you lump of coal. Weren't you listening?"

 

"To what?"

 

"The story of your tragic romance, as written in great detail by the wonderful, highly-researched Casterly Weekly News."

 

Jon's gaze flitted from the magazine in her hands to the crumpled page at his side and frowned. He picked up the balled-up page from where it had fallen beside him on the sofa and smoothed it out against his knee. As he looked it over, his expression darkened.

 

Arya raised an eyebrow when he didn't say anything for a minute, just glared at the photos. She wasn't sure if it was the photo of himself looking sad with his bottle of orange juice and stick of brussels sprouts or the photo of Daenerys looking sublimely untroubled in the Essosi sun.

 

"Sam was right, my hair really looks like a poodle," he muttered to himself.

 

Arya rolled her eyes. "Not to try to give you hair— or love— advice or anything, but that's hardly your problem here."

 

Jon shrugged, putting the page aside with forced casualness. He picked up his book and leaned back against the couch cushions, bringing his book up to his face. But Arya could see the tension in his shoulders and his eyes were hardly moving across the words.

 

"What d'you mean?" he asked.

 

Arya wanted to laugh. "It's good you're a musician and not an actor, because you suck at it."

 

In response, Jon stuck out his lower lip in a pout.

 

"Not going to win you any awards anytime soon, that look."

 

"Thanks," Jon replied with rare sarcasm, flipping to the next page in his book. "I'll be sure to mention your support in my Golden Hand acceptance speech."

 

"If you ever make it up there, I am holding you to that, Jon Snow. At least 30 seconds, just for me," Arya replied. She rolled up the magazine and pointed it at him. "But anyway, what I was saying is that you really need to move on from Daenerys Targaryen."

 

Jon sulked, if it was possible, even more. "I am."

 

"No, I mean _really_ move on."

 

Jon huffed. "I _am._ "

 

"Sure," Arya replied with false sincerity. "That's why you've been hanging around here for the last three weeks, looking like the undead and brushing up on your ancient history. And eating all of my mum's cooking and Sansa's lemon cakes. While you check your phone constantly. Because you've ‘moved on.’"

 

"Well, I'm trying to, I guess." Jon groaned and dropped the open book over his face. "It's just hard. Besides, we only broke up at the beginning of May. She's— we've known each other for a long time. We've been through a lot together. And whenever I see her again, she always makes me forget why we broke up."

 

From the kitchen down the hall, Catelyn Stark's commanding voice echoed. "Arya! Jon! Dinner in five minutes!"

 

"Got it!" Arya yelled back. She dropped the magazine on the table and swung herself around on the sofa until her head was closer to his. "Jon. Listen to me." 

 

Jon snorted, but didn't protest.

 

Arya cleared her throat, not ready for the emotional crap she was about to enumerate. "Let me remind you what you told me and Robb _years_ ago. You and Dany’ve broken up multiple times because you both make each other really miserable. You push each other's buttons all the bloody time. You try too hard to make time for her, she doesn't do the same for you. She gets you perfect, thoughtful gifts and you completely forget her birthday."

 

Jon pulled down the book until one dark eye was narrowed at Arya. "Once!"

 

"You rile each other up. I've never seen you act with anyone else like you do with her. It's weird. She turns you into this different person. You're fucking miserable with her."

 

Jon was silent for a minute as he mulled over her words. Eventually he sighed. "You're right."

 

Arya smirked. "I know."

 

"I just don't... know how. She always gets me back."

 

"Well, thankfully you’ve got me. Here, gimme your phone."

 

Jon looked reluctant but he pulled his phone out of his back pocket and chucked it at Arya. "Don't send her any rude texts."

 

Arya scoffed. "It's like you don't trust me at all. And besides she'd know it was me. I bet you've never sent her a dick pic."

 

Jon looked pained.

 

"Arya! Jon! Dinner is ready!" Catelyn called.

 

"Got it, mum! Coming!" Arya yelled back. But instead of sending Daenerys any rude texts, Arya clicked through his contacts and blocked Daenerys' number, then went into his Twitter and his Instagram (both of which he used so rarely, it was a surprise he had any followers at all), and blocked Daenerys' accounts from contacting him. "What you really need to do is just _stay away from her._ Don't meet up with her, don't go round to hers, anything you had planned to do together just cancel. And don't meet up with her friends for a while either."

 

At that, Jon sat up. The book slid off his face. "Okay, but what about Alanna and Rhaenys' wedding? That's my sister's wedding— and her sister's, too."

 

Arya groaned, chucking Jon's phone back at him. "Gods, don't remind me your siblings are getting married. Your family is so weird."

 

"We're going to stuck together through the whole thing. She's Rhaenys' maid of honor, or something. We're paired up for the walk down the aisle, seating, everything. It's going to be a mess."

 

"Wait. Not necessarily." Arya held up a finger, then shrugged. "Although yes, it'll probably be a shitshow. But I have a plan."

 

Jon perked up. "What plan?"

 

"Very simple one. You just need a buffer. A deterrent."

 

Jon quirked an eyebrow. "You want me to wear a tyre around my waist? So we don't run into one another?"

 

"Not a _bumper_ , you idiot. A buffer. A romantic cover." Arya's mind was already racing, trying to figure out the best person for it. "Like a date. Or even better, a girlfriend. One that everyone knows about. So Daenerys'd know to stay away. And no one would try to shove you two together."

 

Jon shook his head, looking deflated. "I don't have a girlfriend."

 

"Yes, I know," Arya replied tartly. "But you will."

 

"How? I don't have time to date around right now. Girlfriends don't just appear out of thin air."

 

Footsteps sounded down the hall and a second later Arya's older sister Sansa peered around the doorframe. "Hey guys, dinner's started. Mum says if you don't come in the next two minutes, she's going to let Rickon eat your portions."

 

A terrible, possibly brilliant idea popped to mind. Arya considered her. "Sansa, come here."

 

Sansa looked suspiciously at her. "Why?" she asked, although she shuffled closer and stood in the doorframe anyway.

 

Her red hair was pulled back into a messy bun and she was wearing artfully tattered jean shorts and a yellow Comme des Garçons shirt that probably cost more than Arya's entire wardrobe, and Arya had to admit she could fit the part. Sansa Stark, beloved indie actress who had just finished up the press junket for her first big franchise film and was staying with her family for a couple of days to recover, someone who knew Jon _and_ Daenerys, and could be convinced to help if Arya just asked the right questions.

 

"What do you think about dating Jon?" Arya asked.

 

Jon made a sound like he was about to choke. 

 

Sansa gaped at her, before her gaze flickered over to Jon and then back. "What?" Her voice had gone several octaves higher. " _Why_?"

 

Arya narrowed her eyes. Sansa's cheeks had flushed and pink was rapidly spreading down her neck. _Interesting._ "I mean, fake dating him."

 

Sansa looked confused. "Fake dating him? What do you mean?"

 

"I mean, he needs an excuse to stay away from Daenerys at his sister's wedding next month. Someone who can pretend to be his girlfriend so Daenerys won't try to get him back for a while and he can move on. So he can escape that sinkhole of a relationship."

 

"'S not a sinkhole," Jon muttered.

 

Arya shot him a quelling look. "Uh- _huh_."

 

Sansa's cheeks were bright red now, but her voice was basically back to normal. "Oh," she replied. She very resolutely seemed to not be looking at Jon, although Jon was staring at the two of them like he was expecting one of them to yell _April Fool's!_ any second now. "I mean, sure."

 

"So you'd do it?" Arya asked.

 

Sansa opened her mouth to reply just as another yell came from down the hall, "Please come to dinner! Arya! Jon! Sansa!" Catelyn did not sound patient.

 

"Uh-oh, she said _please_ ," Sansa said as she looked down the hall. When she turned back, she smiled seductively at Jon. It was her full-force, photoshoot-ready smile and it was a bit blinding in person. In an exaggeratedly low, sultry voice, Sansa said, "Let me know when you want to go steady, Jon. I'll be waiting for your class ring to make it official."

 

Jon gaped at her. 

 

Arya wanted to shake her head. Why her friend was such a dumbass sometimes, she didn't know. At the very least he could respond to Sansa's joke if he wasn't going to accept her offer. Instead he seemed dumbfounded.

 

Sansa let the smile drop after a second. She shrugged with forced unconcern at Jon's silence and continued in her normal voice, "Anyway, dinner. It has been served. I still want some, so I'm going to go before Bran feeds my portion to Summer."

 

And with that she turned and disappeared down the hall. Arya didn't miss the way Sansa's ears had turned pink, too.

 

Jon looked slowly back at Arya. "What just—? Did she?"

 

Arya sprung up and patted him on the shoulder on her way out the door. This was going to be way more entertaining than she thought. "Girlfriends really do appear out of thin air. You're welcome."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa didn't really think much of the conversation after that. 

 

She had gone back to the dining room and pretended like everything was normal through the dinner that followed. Because everything _was_ normal. Her sister was just making fun of her as usual. 

 

Arya had plopped down in her usual seat next to Sansa a minute later, snatching the slice of bread Rickon was about to feed to Summer and shoving it into her mouth.

 

Jon had trailed in a few minutes later, sitting across the table next to Robb and looking broody. He barely looked at Sansa as she handed him the plate she had saved from her mother's wrath. He had just mumbled a _thank you_ and sat in brooding silence for the rest of the dinner. 

 

Sansa tried to focus on everyone else, since she had been gone for two months on a press tour and had missed her family, but her thoughts and her gaze would occasionally slide over to him. No one else seemed to notice, at least.

 

 _What do you think about dating Jon?_ The words, and Jon's gobsmacked expression, floated around her head. It was just a joke, obviously. 

 

Sansa had never told anyone about her crush on Jon, because it was both not a big deal and bit embarrassing. Jon had never shown any interest in her. He had been dating Daenerys on-and-off since he was 20 and Sansa 17, and one didn't exactly pursue a childish crush when he was dating a genuine movie star. 

 

Sansa stabbed the grilled salmon her mother had made for dinner with a little more gusto, and stuck a big piece in her mouth. As she chewed, she shot one more look at Jon. 

 

He was saying something to Robb about the upcoming tour for his band, gesturing with his hands to illustrate some point, and wasn't even looking at her. He had pulled his hair back into a bun at the back of his head and was wearing the wire-rimmed glasses he had had for about as long as Sansa had a crush on him. He looked nothing like the leather-jacketed musician who played to sold-out venues. 

 

What a dork. She still had a crush on him, so what? 

 

Sansa shook her head minutely.

 

Whatever. It was a joke. She should put it out of her mind. 

 

— 

 

And Sansa did— for a week. 

 

The following Thursday she was ensconced in the makeup trailer at Studio City, trying not to fall asleep as one of the stylists braided her hair and another touched up her makeup. They were getting ready for some final reshoots of _Godswood_ when her phone buzzed on the counter. 

 

She ignored it. 

 

It buzzed again. And again. She continued to ignore it. Then it buzzed and didn't stop, flashing to indicate an incoming call. 

 

Sansa groaned and leaned over to pick it up.

 

The only people who called were her agent and her father, both of whom she was too tired to talk to right now. 

 

She slid her finger across the Accept Call and put the phone up to her ear. "Hello?"

 

"Sansa! Good evening, sweetling." 

 

Sansa grimaced at the nickname. Petyr Baelish was one of the best agents in the business, and the reason for her recent success, but he made her… uncomfortable. "Good evening, Petyr. How are you?" she asked in a polite voice. 

 

"Very well, thank you," Petyr replied in his habitual smooth tone. "Just wanted to call about a few quick matters of business. Is this a good time?"

 

This was less of a question and more of a command. 

 

Sansa mouthed an apology to the makeup artists and hairstylists, and they stepped away to give her some privacy. "Yes, this is a good time. What's new?"

 

"I've gotten your contract for the _Court of Lions_ film, so we should make an appointment this week to go over it."

 

"Okay I'll talk to Shae about setting one up."

 

"Excellent. There's also a few scripts I've compiled for your review. I'll messenger them over tomorrow morning."

 

"Great. I'll read them over this weekend." 

 

"Let me know your thoughts and I can start setting up meetings with the studios. And one last thing…"

 

"Yes?" Sansa scratched the makeup table with one finger nervously. Petyr always wound up to the biggest issue last. She combed her memory for what it could be. She'd hardly been out since she had gotten back from the press tour. Had someone hacked her Instagram again?

 

"I've heard a rumor that involves you that I need a comment on."

 

Sansa frowned. "What rumor?" 

 

"Just—"

 

Suddenly, Sansa's phone buzzed with another incoming call. She pulled the phone away and raised an eyebrow at the ID on the screen. 

 

Arya. 

 

That was weird. Her sister hated calling people. "Sorry, Petyr, my sister is calling. I'll be right back."

 

"—true? Alright, my little bird. I have to take care of some other business. Give me a call as soon as you're off."

 

"I will." Sansa hung up and quickly accepted Arya's call. "Arya?

 

Sound blared from the other end of the other call. Music and the sound of several loud, overlapping conversations and the clink of glassware. Was Arya at a bar? It was 9PM on a Friday night, so she shouldn’t have been surprised. 

 

"Sansa!" Arya said, sounding amused and possibly drunk. "Good, good. We need to talk to you. Gods, it's _so_ fucking funny." 

 

"About what?"

 

"He did it, I can't believe it. I was just joking but he. They said her name and _bam!_ He— he just said—" Arya dissolved into laughter. Someone's low voice said something Sansa couldn't discern, and Arya cackled. "He's not _that_ drunk," she said to someone on her end. 

 

Sansa covered up her other ear, trying to hear the conversation going on in the background of the call. _What the fuck?_ "Arya, where are you? Are you okay? What are you talking about?"

 

Arya didn't respond. 

 

"Hello?" Sansa pulled her phone away from her ear and frowned at it. Had Arya even meant to call her? She had said Sansa's name but seemed to have forgotten her immediately. 

 

She was just about to hang up when her phone rang _again_. Her heart skipped in surprise.

 

_Jon Snow_

 

Quickly accepting the call, she put the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

 

"Sansa?" Jon's gravelly voice came over the line. It sounded like he was in a bar, too, with that same background music as Arya's call. "Is that you?"

 

"Yes, it's me. What's going on?" 

 

"I'm sorry to… call you like this, but uh, I think it's ne— nesser—"

 

"Necessary?" Sansa hated how prim she sounded, but it had been automatic. Something about his tone made her nervous. Good nervous, she thought.

 

" _Needed_ to tell you," Jon finished in a low voice, sounding heartfelt and quite drunk. 

 

Sansa felt her face flush. _Needed to tell her what? Is it that thing Arya said last week?_

 

"Yes?" 

 

Jon took so long to respond, she thought he might not answer, like Arya. "So, we were at Highgarden Brewery and uh— we may have been given some— a _few_ free drinks."

 

Sansa heard Arya's not-a-boyfriend- _thanks_ Gendry in the background yell, "Lots of free drinks!" followed by a cheer by someone who sounded like Arya.

 

"Yeah, yeah, okay. A lot. And on the way out some guy from Castle— what is it? _Casterly_ News got us, and he just kept asking about Dany and me, and were we getting back together, did you see her with that guy from Meereen? And I said no, and he kept asking if I was seeing anyone—" 

 

Sansa's heart did a huge leap and her head began to spin. _Oh_.

 

"—and Arya was just talking about that thing last week, so I may have mentioned— no, well, I said... we were dating." Jon sighed. There was a long pause. "'M sorry. I wasn't thinking. I'm really sorry, Sansa."

 

Sansa felt her stomach drop. He didn't need to sound quite so— _regretful_. 

 

"Oh."

 

"Yeah." 

 

They both fell silent for a minute. Sansa's mind was scrambling for something to say that would tactfully give him an out, whereas her heart had immediately leapt ahead to, _well, let's make the rumor come true._ That was impossible. Besides, he had sounded like he wished he hadn't said it. 

 

Despite his own messy love life, it was a lighthearted love story compared to Sansa's. Her father had used his connections to ensure the full details would never be made public and ruin her career before it even began. But Sansa knew her brother and sister had mentioned her near-engagement to Joffrey at 18, and the absolute mess that had been her brief 'relationship' with Ramsay, to Jon. 

 

There was a reason she hadn't dated in years. 

 

Which was likely the reason he sounded like he regretted it.

 

She carefully pulled her heart back from where it had sped ahead. They were not going to go down that route. 

 

"I assume you want me to have Petyr issue a denial?" she asked, her voice carefully controlled. 

 

There was a pause before Jon responded, his voice a little… _odd_. "Don't you _want_ to deny it?"

 

Sansa stared at herself in the mirror. The girl who stared back at her looked perfectly untouched. Unbothered. She shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me."

 

"Uh," Jon said. 

 

She could imagine him leaning over the table with one hand buried in his hair, thinking hard. It didn't make her feel better to make him say he wanted to deny it, but it would help to hear it. 

 

"Actually, if it's alright with you, if we could just… not deny it for a month or two? Just until Alanna's wedding is over? Since you're already invited to the wedding, maybe we can just go together."

 

Sansa felt her mind go blank. _What?_

 

He sighed. "I think Arya was right. It would keep her away long enough to give us both some breathing room. The tour starts right after the wedding, so I'll be across the country for a couple more months. And we can quietly break up. Or you can dump me." He laughed lowly. "It's a big favor, I know, but it would be a lifesaver if you could pretend."

 

The girl looking back at Sansa in the mirror looked shocked, her blue eyes wide. 

 

"Sansa?" Jon asked, sounding concerned. "If you don't want to, that's alright. You don't need to worry about it." 

 

 _No,_ her brain told her. _It's a bad idea._ She opened her mouth to say that. 

 

"It's okay," Sansa found herself saying. "I won't deny it."

 

"Are you sure?" 

 

"Yes, I'm sure," Sansa said more firmly than she felt. She had no idea what she was doing. "Let's do it. I don't mind. I want to— I want to help."

 

Jon sighed in relief. His voice was warm with sincerity when he said, "Thank you, Sansa. I really appreciate it." 

 

"I'll call you later," Sansa replied, ignoring the way she was blushing like a schoolgirl with a crush. It didn’t help that it was partly true. "Get home safe. And don't get into a drinking contest with Arya. She'll drink you under the table."

 

"Too late," Jon laughed. "And good night."

 

"'Night." She needed to get off this call now before she offered to stay his girlfriend— permanently. Which was clearly not what he wanted. Before he could say anything else, she hung up.

 

Sansa stared at her dark phone screen for a long second. What had she just agreed to? 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jon had found the café easily enough. When he gave his name at the front, the waiter had led him to a reserved table on the balcony that overlooked Blackwater Bay. Great red flowers were blooming on the vines growing up the trellis and frothy palms were spaced between each white-clothed table, giving the illusion of privacy. It was beautiful, and exactly the kind of restaurant he never went to because they always made him feel out of place. 

 

But this was where Sansa had requested to meet, so here he was. 

 

He was just cursing the bright summer day and wishing his sunglasses were big enough to cover his entire face, instead of the trendy tortoiseshell ones which were barely doing their job of blocking the sun, when Sansa breezed in. 

 

She touched him lightly on the shoulder as she passed in a cloud of flowery perfume. Her silky peach dress swirled around her as she dropped into the seat opposite him. 

 

"Good morning," Sansa said, smiling at him from behind _her_ big sunglasses. 

 

With her gleaming red hair spilling over her shoulders and her dewy skin glowing in the light, she looked perfect. She had even smelled perfect. Like a movie star. 

 

Jon wanted to slide right down to the floor. He had showered and was wearing fresh clothes, but after last night and the morning that had followed, he felt like the puddle of an alcohol-soaked mess, not worthy to even look at someone like her. 

 

"'Morning," he said, taking a big gulp of coffee in the hope that it would make him feel slightly more awake. So far, nothing.

 

Sansa waved at a waiter, who appeared soundlessly by the table a second later. "Can we have some more coffee here, please? And a fruit bowl. Thank you.”

 

As the waiter left to put in their order, she sat up and flipped open the menu. “Have you ordered anything yet?” 

 

“Uh, just coffee.” Jon cleared his throat. “I don’t know if I’m up for much else.”

 

Sansa shot him a smile with just the tiniest bit of a smirk. “I know that feeling. We went out together, me and Arya and Gendry and some of their friends, a couple months ago and I swear I felt sick for a week. Did they offer to teach you to sword fight?”

 

Jon frowned, trying to remember. After the paparazzi run-in outside of Highgarden and the conversation with Sansa, things got a bit fuzzy. “I think so. But Pod stopped them before they got up on stage. The band that was playing was about to start a fight.”

 

Sansa laughed. “Sounds like a fun night out. How are you feeling?”

 

“Barely on this side of alive," Jon groaned. He didn't even want to think about it. "And you? How were reshoots?”

 

Sansa looked surprised for a second, like she hadn’t expected him to know about that. “Oh, good. Pretty quick. We finished up at around 5AM, I think?” She shrugged and pushed her hair over her shoulder with one hand. “The film is mostly done, anyway, it’s just some last minute shots for filler. They’re pushing for a December release, to qualify for this year’s Golden Hand.” 

 

Jon blinked several times in surprise. “5AM? It’s not even noon yet. Sansa, how are you _awake_?”

 

Sansa’s brows raised over the edge of her sunglasses. “Oh, didn’t Arya tell you?” she asked, sounding surprised. “I don’t sleep during the week when I have work. Just an hour or two at a time. Whenever I have a day off, though, I sleep for twenty hours straight.”

 

“That’s… that doesn’t sound healthy.”

 

“It’s perfectly healthy. Petyr spoke to a sleep doctor who said I’d probably live five years longer than everyone else if I kept it up.”

 

Jon stared at her. He had only had five hours of (disturbed) sleep last night, and he felt like absolute _death_. She probably had gotten less than that. “Maybe get a second opinion?” he said, trying not to sound as concerned as he felt. 

 

Sansa shook her head, a smile curling at the corners of her pink lips. Her hair gleamed in the sunlight as it fell down her shoulders again to frame her face. “You’re very sweet, Jon. But I’m _kidding_.”

 

“Oh.”

 

The waiter had returned with a carafe full of iced coffee and a tray with a couple of rustic-looking bowls full of different berries. He poured a glass of iced coffee for Sansa and when he turned to Jon, Jon offered him his glass like he was a penitent at the Sept of Baelor looking for some godly intervention.  

 

Sansa looked amused. 

 

“Not about the hours of sleep I get, but the healthy part,” Sansa continued after she had given the waiter their order. She took a sip of coffee. “Mm. Well, anyway, Bran says I’ll probably die of a heart attack tragically young because of it, but he sleeps about thirteen hours a day, so I don’t know if he’s quite qualified to give advice.”

 

“Probably true,” Jon agreed. He rubbed at his temple with one hand, trying to stop the migraine that was building from the bright light reflecting off the sea. “Sorry, I’m just— this light wants to kill me.”

 

“Too bright?” Sansa winced. “I didn’t really think of that when I made the reservation. Forgot you'd have a hangover. Do you want to go inside?”

 

“No, it’s fine. I just wish I had a hat, or something.”

 

Sansa hummed to herself as she dug through her bag. “I don’t have a hat, _but_ do you want to borrow my sunglasses?”

 

Jon raised his eyebrows. “Sure, if you’re okay with it. D’you have another pair?”

 

“No. Let’s switch.” She pulled off her big sunglasses and offered them to Jon. 

 

He picked them out of her grasp carefully, aware they were probably worth more than all the clothes he was wearing combined. “Thanks.”

 

“That’s what girlfriends are for. And boyfriends.”

 

At the words _girlfriend_ and _boyfriend_ , he made the mistake of looking up at her. 

 

Without the sunglasses on, her blue eyes shone in the early afternoon sun and she was even more stunning. Jon felt like his throat had closed up, and it wasn’t because of the food this time. How did people talk again? Words, right? 

 

Sansa took his proffered pair and slid them on. She leaned back and crossed her arms across her chest in an imitation of Jon, adopting a moody expression. “How do I look?”

 

 _Better than me, I’m sure_. 

 

“Very cool.” Jon put her big sunglasses on, deeply relieved when they blocked out most of the sunlight bouncing off the bay. The migraine building in his temple eased up a little bit. “And me?”

 

Sansa tapped her chin with one long finger. The tortoiseshell glasses made her look less like a movie star and more like a girl he would see sitting on the other side of a coffeeshop and be too shy to approach. "Beautiful."

 

 _Exactly what I would say_ , Jon thought. He was just about to say so when the waiter returned with their lunches. 

 

By the time they got settled, Sansa had started talking about something else and he lost his opportunity. It was only after they had finished up their food that she brought the conversation around to the reason that they were meeting.

 

"So, for this relationship thing, how would you like to play it?" Sansa asked, resting her chin in her hand and leaning forward. "Did it just happen? Do you want to go out a lot, be seen? Or do you just want to make an announcement?" 

 

"Oh, I don't know," Jon said. He scratched his beard. "I haven't thought about it, really."

 

"Hmm, okay." Sansa tilted her head, looking out over the bay. The way the light fell over her face, he couldn't see her eyes and her expression was hard to read.

 

Dany's quiet moments usually preceded some sort of fight, so he wasn't sure how to deal with Sansa’s silence. 

 

"What would you be comfortable with?" he asked. He had sort of sprung the idea on her without thinking it through, so he wanted her to have control over how far she should be involved. "I know it was unfair to bring you into this, so I'm sorry."

 

"Oh, that's not what I was thinking about." Sansa looked back at him. "I was just trying to figure out the best way to do this."

 

She leaned in toward him, and a slight breeze off the bay blew that floral perfume over him again, mixed with the slight smell of her coconut-y shampoo. Jon wanted to lean in closer, but kept still.

 

Sansa spun her glass of iced coffee on the table, looking thoughtful. "Honestly, I don't think rumors of us dating are going to stop her from pursuing you, if that's what she really wants. She seems to do whatever it takes to get what she’s gunning for, regardless of what people are saying. Which is fine. But some tiny rumor of us dating might just make her jealous."

 

"That's… probably true," Jon conceded. 

 

"Whereas if you're actually seen going out with someone, dating, and you look very, um—" Sansa seemed to stumble over her words for the first time that day. 

 

"Lovestruck?"

 

" _Devoted_ ," Sansa finished, although she smiled at him for the suggestion. As she continued she spoke a little faster, almost nervously. "Yes, that. If Dany sees that, well, _us_ , she might actually consider that you've moved on. And press-wise, it'll look bad if she storms in and breaks up a couple that looks really… lovestruck. I've been reading about you. And from what I've seen, your relationship makes good tabloid-fodder, but you two rarely look happy together. If it’s going to be different, I think that's what we should go for."

 

Jon nodded, feeling overwhelmed. Sansa seemed to have actually thought this through and come up with a strategy, whereas he was just out in the muck trying to fight his way out of the mess he had made. "So, devoted boyfriend it is."

 

He held his hand out towards Sansa, feeling a little like a storybook prince offering his hand to a princess. Or a peasant waiting for the touch of royalty to heal all his wounds. "Milady."

 

Sansa sat up straight and put her hand in his. Her skin was smooth and cool, and when she squeezed his hand he swore he felt his heart skip a beat. "My...sir? No." She raised an eyebrow. "Your Grace," she settled on with mock-seriousness, ducking her head slightly. 

 

Ignoring how his heart now seemed to be beating in his throat, Jon leaned over and brushed a soft kiss across the back of her hand. "Sansa Stark, will you be my… girlfriend?"

 

When he looked up, Sansa looked, for lack of a better word, flustered. A second later, though, she had adopted her usual disarming smile. Perhaps he had just imagined it. 

 

"I will," she replied smoothly. Then she pulled her hand free from Jon's grasp and picked up her coffee glass. "To our new _fake_ relationship."

 

Jon picked up his own glass and clinked it against hers. "To our new fake relationship."

 

As he took a sip, he wondered why that one word bothered him. _Fake._

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa flopped onto her bed still fully dressed, not even bothering to take off her heels. She felt like sleeping for a week, and this time not even as a joke. It had been a very long, very _strange_ couple of days. 

 

 _Good strange, though_. 

 

"No, no, no," Sansa groaned, rolling over and grabbing the nearest pillow to bury her face into. "Do not even go there," she muttered into the soft down. 

 

But her mind seemed intent on ignoring her. Images spun around her head like an unedited film filled with strange turns and odd interactions. For the last couple of days, she had been in a media whirlwind after the news broke about her and Jon. 

 

**_THE NORTH UNITED? A STARK TURN IN EVENTS…_ **

 

**_THE LADY OF THE NORTH MEETS HER MATCH…_ **

 

Petyr had looked both shocked and slightly annoyed when she had told him she and Jon Snow were, in fact, dating. 

 

They had been sitting in his sleek, modern office, supposedly there to look over the scripts he had sent to her. The scripts themselves sat abandoned on the glass coffee table as Petyr had gotten straight to the point, leaning close to her with a smile as if they were about to share a secret. 

 

Just as quickly as surprise had flashed across his face, it had been absorbed by his professional smile.

 

"Oh, sweetling, I'm just surprised," he had said, sitting back in his minimalist leather chair. His voice slid into its usual obsequious tone. "Next time, you'll let me know ahead of time, so we can work out how to tell the press, alright?"

 

Sansa had ignored the very slight jab at _Next time_ , and shot back her press-ready smile. "You'll be my first call,” she said sweetly. 

 

The next few days she and Jon had met up for dinner at one of the popular new restaurants down near the Red Keep, had gone shopping on the Goldroad and been photographed sitting on the terrace of the Hotel Kingswood having drinks as the sun set over Blackwater Bay. 

 

Their photos had been in every major entertainment magazine and speculation about their relationship had exploded on “the blogs” (or so she had been told by Shae when her assistant had frantically called her, wondering why her friends kept texting her about Jon Snow, had he really broken up with Dany for good and was now dating _Sansa Stark?)._

 

Her Instagram follower count had shot up overnight when she posted a picture of her and Jon’s hands intertwined on her lap, and even further when she had made a video of the two of them running around on the beach down by Blackwater Rush, the end of the video turning to a laughing mess as Jon had picked her up and ran toward the water while she struggled not to drop her phone in the wet sand.

 

She should have been pleased by it. Everything was going according to plan.

 

Sansa sat up, ignoring how her head swam from the wine she had drank with dinner (with the director of a new film she was set to act in, Mace Tyrell and his daughter, and her brother Robb’s girlfriend, the famous actress Margaery Tyrell). 

 

“I am pleased by it,” she muttered to herself. The fan spinning above her head blew cold air over her shoulders, but otherwise it was quiet in her apartment. “I am very happy about it,” she said, sitting up straight and speaking with confidence that she didn’t quite feel. Because whether or not she was happy about it, wasn’t really the point. 

 

It had just been a very _strange_ couple of days. 

 

After their first dinner, Jon had taken her hand right before they left the restaurant. Sansa knew Petyr had put out discreet tips to the tabloid photographers, and the staff had warned them of the paparazzi waiting outside. 

 

Sansa hadn't been nervous. Part of being an actress was the attendant fame, and though it wasn't her favorite part of the business, she had had enough experience with it to be less bothered by it. So she had been surprised when Jon reached over right before they went through the double doors to the street, and took her hand in his. 

 

She looked up at him. For a second, she wondered if he had taken her hand because he thought _she_ was nervous, but his expression was proof enough that wasn't the case. He was staring at the doors like he was about to face down an oncoming army alone, not a couple of photographers just looking for a good picture. 

 

"Hey," Sansa whispered. She squeezed Jon's hand. When he looked over at her, she gave him a small, encouraging smile. "Just take a walk with me."

 

For a moment the dour expression on his face didn't shift. Then a growing smile crinkled the corners of his dark eyes. "Do your walks usually include flash bulbs going off in your face?" he asked, his low voice amused.

 

She narrowed her eyes at him but kept her voice light. "Oh, all the time. How else does one see?"

 

Jon's eyebrows twitched as if he was holding in a laugh. "I don't think I usually can." 

 

"Well, it's good that you have me, then." 

 

Quick as a flash of lightning, an expression Sansa couldn't quite read had flit across Jon's face.

 

 _That's not what this is,_ Sansa had tried to remind herself as a strike of uncertainty made her breath feel frozen in her chest, _he doesn't want to have you. You're just doing him a favour._

 

But a second later Jon was squeezing her hand. "I s'pose that's true," he murmured. 

 

He had looked at her with such genuine warmth, when he asked, "Are you ready?" all she could do was nod.

 

The photographs of them walking out of the restaurant had been on page 3 of the Casterly Weekly News the next day. Sansa had stared at one photograph— the one of Jon handing her into the waiting car like a prince holding on to the hand of a fair maiden he was courting— for far too long to be healthy. When she had finally closed the magazine and put it away, there had been a strange ache in her chest she couldn’t explain.

 

Shopping together had been, of all people, _Arya's_ idea. 

 

Sansa had shuffled into her kitchen one morning later that week, to see her sister sitting on the granite countertop with several open fruit containers in a semi-circle around her. 

 

Arya had looked up at her. "Your raspberries are moldy."

 

Sansa had nearly stumbled back into the doorframe in surprise, but she covered it with a haughty look. "Thanks for checking the status of my fruit drawer. And for breaking into my house."

 

There was no real heat to the criticism. It wasn't as if Arya didn't do it every other month.

 

Arya shrugged, popping some gooseberries into her mouth and speaking as she chewed. "D'you go to the farmers market on Silk Street ever? Hot Pie knows everyone there. He can probably get you some better stuff than this," she said, shaking one of the plastic clamshells in Sansa's direction. 

 

Sansa ignored her. She strode into the room and opened the fridge to peer at the contents. 

 

Besides the berries Arya was destroying, there was precious little else. Sansa shut the fridge and turned to her sister. "Since you ate everything edible… do you want something from Rose Gate Cafe?" 

 

"Ooh, yes." Arya hopped off the counter and followed Sansa into the living room. "Coffee, spicy tomato and egg, and those pastry things. You know what I mean."

 

Late morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the huge potted palms on the balcony cutting green shadows across the tile floor. 

 

Sansa was proud of her apartment, which she had bought with the salary from her first big acting job. Set high on Visenya's Hill, it overlooked south King's Landing, the city's ancient seawall and the faraway shimmer of Blackwater Rush. Although small, it had huge windows to let in the light, original Dornish blue tiles with their intricate patterns that were perfect in summer and freezing in winter, as her mother had predicted. But the space was full of light, populated with carved furniture from the North that reminded her of her childhood home in Winterfell, and beautiful plants that she was sure Shae hated taking care of while Sansa was gone. 

 

Sansa had curled up on the couch and Arya had flopped next to her, occasionally prodding her while she ordered. 

 

"So, you should do something with Jon, something fun," Arya had suggested, when Sansa had finished ordering enough food for three armies.

 

Sansa raised an eyebrow. "We just went on a date two days ago."

 

"I know, and believe me I'm not going to get involved—" Arya caught Sansa's look "— _any more_ than this. But if you ask me, you should do something casual, not just dinner dates."

 

"Why?" Sansa was genuinely curious. Getting dating advice from Arya 'I don't _date_ ' Stark was stranger than anything else she had heard the last few days, and Sansa was in a fake relationship with her brother's best friend. 

 

Arya shrugged. "Have you ever seen Daenerys Targaryen do something casual?" 

 

Sansa ignored the irritation Daenerys' name gave her, and tried to think of what she had ever heard or seen of the other actress. 

 

From a long-established dynasty of actors and directors, producers and film financiers, Daenerys Targaryen had probably been poised since birth to be famous. King’s Landing’s film industry had been basically their kingdom for ages. The three hills that made up King’s Landing were _named after_ Targaryens. It wasn’t as if Daenerys hadn’t worked hard, or wasn’t a good actress— Sansa had been impressed by her in _Mother of Dragons_ before Sansa herself had landed her first role, and the other actress had the Golden Hand trophies to back her up. But she was very much corralled in by her family’s, and now the industry’s, expectations. 

 

“Have you ever seen Daenerys Targaryen _try_ to do something casually?” Arya asked, smirking. “Fucking hilarious.”

 

Sansa tried to think of a time Daenerys had looked anything less than completely put-together, but found it impossible. Wrapped tight in her family’s expectations, the other woman appeared perfectly in control all the time. Any rumor of a temper or a domineering personality, were just that— rumors. Even most of the stories circulating around Daenerys and Jon’s tumultuous relationship were centred mostly around Jon’s ‘temper’. 

 

Sansa shook her head. “What do you want me to do, take him to the zoo?”

 

Arya upended the rest of the gooseberries into her mouth. She chewed openly. “Sure. But if you’re going to go, wait until the red lions come on tour from the Summer Islands. And take me.” 

 

“That’s not until the end of the year, Arya.”

 

Arya looked as if she had no idea that was the case. As if she wasn’t casually suggesting that Sansa and Jon would still be dating in six months. “Fine. Maybe go shopping, or something. Go to the beach. Jon needs to get outside, to be honest. It’ll be fun, and it’ll look good, too, I guess. _Littlefinger_ will be pleased.”

 

Sansa rolled her eyes at her sister’s nickname for her agent. They had never gotten along— not that it surprised Sansa in the least. Arya had no patience for bullshit and Petyr, no time for anyone who didn’t benefit him. 

 

"Petyr wasn't happy about it. Jon and I, dating." Sansa scratched at the silvery-blue velvet cushion of the couch. “He hid it, but I could tell he wasn’t pleased.”

  
Arya made a face. “That’s because Littlefinger doesn’t want anyone to date you but him.”

 

“Ew!” 

 

“What? It’s true,” Arya said, shooting Sansa a look. “He’s creepy. I don’t like him.”

 

“He’s never tried to touch me,” Sansa said, wondering why this was the truest and best defense she could give her agent. “He’s never said anything _untoward_.”

 

Arya made a noncommittal sound. “High praise, I guess. Did you tell him it was fake, you and Jon?”

 

“Why would I tell him that?” Sansa crossed her arms across her chest, ignoring the grating edge of that word: _fake_. Gods, she was the one who had suggested it, it shouldn’t bother her as much as it did. 

 

Arya leant forward and began to stack the plastic fruit clamshells together. “I dunno. Sounds like something you’d tell your agent, if you trusted him.” 

 

Sansa tried to come up with a response to that pointed criticism but couldn’t think of a thing. 

 

Arya popped up and headed in the direction of the kitchen. At the door, she looked over at Sansa. “Maybe you should text Jon. See what he wants to do. You shouldn’t have to plan the whole thing, anyway.”

 

In the end, they ended up doing both. 

 

Shopping with Jon was more fun that Sansa had anticipated. He gamely tried on some of the clothes Sansa pointed out for him, the more ridiculous the better— Sansa liked the picture she had taken of him in a jade-green leather jacket, long fringe trailing from each arm like a pair of wings, big silver-framed sunglasses perched on his nose, posed cooly on the black leather settee of one of the stores they had wandered into. 

 

He had smiled shyly, clearly embarrassed, when a few of the shop attendants had crowded around him at a record shop, asking for an autograph or a selfie, and Sansa had insisted on taking pictures of them together (Jon really was terrible in photos, which was quite sweet, but the attendants were pleased). 

 

The beach was— not a mistake, exactly. Thinking about it made Sansa flush, though in embarrassment or _something else_ , she wasn’t sure. 

 

It hadn’t even been planned. They had been going to a beachside cafe that Sansa had heard about, which turned out to be closed due to renovations. At a bit of a loss, they headed down River Row until they came to a break in the seawall, where the ancient steps descended into the sand. 

 

Jon had looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “Want to?” he asked. He offered up his hand. 

 

Sansa shrugged, trying to keep the smile off her face. “Sure.”

 

They had walked down the steps hand-in-hand until they were nearly at the bottom. With the sun red and honey-yellow on the horizon, making the sea blaze with light and the sand look like an endless plain of gold, Sansa felt strangely nervous. Jon’s warm hand around hers, the woodsy smell of his cologne and the sound of his low voice as he hummed some song she vaguely recognized.  Everything seemed, all at once, too serious for the game they were playing. 

 

When they reached the sand, he sat on the last stair and was working on untying his shoes while Sansa kicked off her sandals. She pulled her phone from her bag and pointed the camera at him, just thinking to take a quick picture of him to send to Arya. _See, we made it to the beach, too_ , she would say. 

 

Jon looked up at her, hands pausing on the laces of his hi-top sneakers. His dark curls gleamed from where they were pushed back behind his sunglasses and his brown eyes seemed warm and amused in the red-gold of the sunset. Hoping she seemed playful and not as nervous as she felt, Sansa shot him a smile. She was just going to say, _Smile for Arya_ , but it was as if her mouth had a different idea entirely. 

 

“Race you to the water,” Sansa said quickly. She saw his eyes widen before she was obeying her own instructions, turning and racing across the still-warm sand. 

 

“Hey!” she heard him yell, but she was already halfway there and failing to hold in laughter that she couldn’t explain. When the sand turned wet and the beach sloped down into the water, she spun around, raising the phone to capture his run, but he was far closer than she thought.

 

Jon was almost right behind her. 

 

She didn’t know why she did it, but she held out her arms like she was expecting him to pick her up, and as if he was reading her thoughts, he scooped her up. Sansa heard herself laugh, loud and freely, as she grabbed Jon’s shoulders for balance, her heart beating high in her throat. 

 

Their combined momentum carried them a few more steps into the gently crashing surf, Jon’s arms strong around her waist and under her thighs, like a groom carrying his bride over the threshold. Sansa could feel his breath on her skin, the heat of his skin under his thin t-shirt, and it was as if joy itself was coursing through her veins. 

 

He laughed, voice low and breathless and she felt like she had never been more aware of another person in her life. 

 

“You cheated,” he laughed, trying to keep his tone serious but failing. Sansa could barely make herself catch his expression, and she felt like looking directly into his face would be a terrific mistake right now. 

 

“Oh, did I?” she asked, aware of how breathless she sounded. “Thought I gave you plenty of warning.”

 

Jon shook his head, curls brushing against the sensitive skin of her neck. He stumbled a couple steps deeper into the water, until she could feel the sea spray against her legs and the back of her neck. It seemed hard to catch her breath. 

 

“Hardly fair, Sansa.” He looked at her from the corner of his eye, a smile curling at his lips. “Should I just—?” he dipped her slightly towards the water. 

 

“Don’t you dare!” She held tighter to him. “Jon Snow, I will get you back just as good if you get me wet.”

 

Jon made a noncommittal sound, though he took a few steps back out of the water just the same. Only when he was barely in up to his knees did he slowly let her down, until he was holding her close to his chest with one arm around her waist, and her arms were wrapped around his shoulders. 

 

Golden light spilled over his hair, gilding his curls and the slight quirk in his dark brows as he looked at her. “Is that a promise?” he asked lowly, brown eyes bright, and for a moment Sansa forgot what he meant. She forgot they were just pretending, that this was all just a photo op. She forgot she shouldn’t get caught up in this moment, in this man. 

 

She couldn’t even find her tongue to respond. 

 

A smile, unfettered by his usual worry, lit up Jon’s face. He ducked out of her loose grip and ducked down to scoop up some water with both hands. 

 

Thankfully, Sansa regained her wits just as quickly as she had apparently lost them. “Don’t you dare,” she said, pointing at him with her phone as she backed away. “Expensive electronics out of harm's way first.”

 

She could see the indecision clear across Jon’s face. 

 

“Okay,” he said, water spilling back into the bay as he opened his hands. He wiped his hands on his already-wet jeans, pulling his own phone from his pocket. “Temporary truce.”

 

“You’re a good man,” Sansa said. She took advantage of the momentary distraction and yanked off her purse, chucking it onto the dry sand, followed close behind by her phone. Just as quickly as she had done, she ducked back towards the sea and reached down for her own handful of water.

 

She spun to see Jon already chucking his phone in the direction of her things. He caught the determined glint in her eye and took a couple of quick steps back in the low surf before she could attack. 

 

“You’re one to watch, Sansa Stark,” Jon said, pointing at her. 

 

It wasn’t the first time she had heard something similar from a man, but it was one of the first times she had heard it said with a smile. 

 

When she had posted the video to her Instagram, she received a text from Arya barely two minutes later. All it said was: 

 

**_W O W_ **

 

-

 

Sansa picked up her phone and brought up Instagram. With inexplicable trepidation, she clicked on her latest post. 

 

She watched as the video started up, with her pointing the camera at Jon as he sat at the bottom of the stone steps, his shoes halfway off. She heard her voice, light and teasing as it hardly ever was, her laugh.

 

Jon looked up, curious and confused for a moment, before the video spun across the sunlit beach, shaking as she had run towards the water. She heard Jon's call to her, and the camera spun around again and he was right there, a rare smile on his face. The video got even more confusing then, as he had lifted her, mostly just a sideways view of the beach and the sound of their laughter. 

 

The video ended and looped back to the beginning, Jon looking up at the camera, light glinting off the sunglasses on top of his head.

 

Though she rarely checked her account personally, this time Sansa scrolled through the comments under the video. Most were positive, saying how cute they were, comments filled with showers of pink glowing hearts or shimmering confetti. There was the occasional interjection of a fan of Dany or even of Jon, spewing whatever negative emotion they felt most appropriate but they were generally drowned out by the positive. 

 

_What a cute couple!!!_

 

_Gotta get my bf to the beach now lmao_

 

_OMG you two are the IDEAL! How do you do it?_

 

As Sansa scrolled further and further, she began to feel strange, watching the reaction of people watching events of her life. It was as though she was standing in a room of mirrors, seeing reflections of herself all around but not sure which was the truth, or if any of it was. 

 

A couple, or not a couple? 

 

Sansa had been careful to cut the video before it got to their quiet conversation. Even without the video, she could clearly remember Jon's low voice asking, "Is that a promise?" as his eyes met hers, and how her heart had leapt at the words. How for a split second she wanted to lean forward and brush her lips against his in a different kind of promise. 

 

She should have just posted the whole thing. It would have just completed the perfect snapshot of a happy, burgeoning romance. Wasn’t that what Jon wanted? For it to be clear he was moving on from Dany? And yet somehow the moment felt too private, too real to share. 

 

 _That_ was a mistake to think. 

 

Sansa abruptly closed the app and shoved her phone under the edge of her plush duvet. Determined to focus on something else, she pulled off her heels and settled them neatly next to her bed. As she stood and began pulling her hair out of the elaborate braid it had been styled in for the dinner, she turned and shot the lump of her phone one more distrustful glance, as if it had betrayed her. 

 

But even as she pulled off her dress and draped it across the back of a nearby chair, Sansa knew there was no one to blame for this situation but herself. She was the one who was making things out to be more than they really were. She was the one having feelings she shouldn’t. 

 

She was the one who had agreed to this and yet who still seemed to forget everything was _fake_. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jon flashed his ID to the bouncer at the door of Flea Bottom Tavern and ducked past the iron-studded doors into the main barroom. 

 

He was late. 

 

Rehearsals had run overtime, with everyone on edge trying to make everything perfect for the impending tour. Between rehearsals, interviews about their new album, and going out nearly every day with Sansa to be spotted at this famous restaurant or shopping together at that up-and-coming store, Jon was exhausted. 

 

Not that spending time with Sansa was hard. It was probably—no, _definitely_ —the easiest part of his day. She was sweet and smart, with an unexpectedly dry sense of humor that fit perfectly with his. He had thought it might be awkward for her, pretending, but Sansa fell into the role of newly devoted girlfriend with ease. Always there with a hand on his shoulder when she stood next to him, or leaning in close to him as they walked together down the boulevard, they were never big displays of affection, but genuine touches like someone falling in love. 

 

She was always put-together and calm in the face of unexpected hurdles, or expected paparazzi. He had never got on with the photographers that had followed him and Dany around and were now doing the same with him and Sansa, but Sansa never lost her composure. They were always in and out, giving the photographers what they wanted and nothing more. 

 

The trouble, if there was one, was when the photographers weren’t there. When it was just the two of them. 

 

They had climbed Aegon’s Hill one morning at Sansa’s suggestion. She had swung by at a time Jon hadn’t been willingly awake for in years. As soon as he got in the car, she had pointed at a second cup of coffee in the center console for him. 

 

At his look, she said, “I know it’s early, but I promise it’s worth it.”

 

Jon took a sip of the coffee, which was surprisingly delicious. “It’s not even light out.”

 

“That’s the point.” When he pressed her for more details, she just shook her head. “You’ll see.”

 

They had parked at the bottom of the hill and started up the winding path cut into the earth, as it slowly became visible in the rising light. The morning was cool and still, and as Jon looked back, King’s Landing became smaller and further away, quiet as the nighttime calm lifted from the streets. It was peaceful, walking up the path with Sansa at his side, the birds twittering as they passed through the copses of oak trees clustered around the trail. It brought him back to mornings in the North, when he had been young, running around the park with Robb on weekends. 

 

He had looked over at Sansa, loath to break the calm quiet but wanting to ask. “Does this remind you of Winterfell?”

 

Sansa had tilted her head back, looking up at the trees reaching over them. The oaks were smaller and far more sparsely gathered than in the North, their branches fuller with leaves but still standing lonely in the middle of a hill in the centre of a huge city, rather than amongst the rest of the forest that must once have stood there. 

 

“I miss home.” Her eyelashes fluttered as she blinked and tilted her head back down. “I love it here, I love what I’m doing, most of my family is here for one reason or another a lot, but I wish I had more time to go back to Winterfell.” Her voice was full of a wistfulness that he hadn’t expected, but understood. 

 

He had taken her hand before he realised what he was doing. “I miss home, too.”

 

They walked up the rest of the path holding hands, not needing to speak. It was easy to be quiet with Sansa, to feel her calmness spread to him. When they finally reached the top of Aegon’s Hill and looked over Blackwater Bay, the sun was breaking over the eastern horizon. It lit up the ring of limestone blocks that remained of the ruined Red Keep and made the water crashing into the shore far below glitter with brilliant light. 

 

It was beautiful and, as Sansa had promised, worth it. 

 

They had found a comfortable spot to settle in next to the ruins, to watch the rest of the sunrise. Jon had sat down and held out an arm for Sansa to join him. With a soft, nearly-shy smile, she had joined him, leaning into his side and resting her head on his shoulder. Jon had breathed in the soft floral scent of her shampoo and, before he could think about it, he pressed a kiss to her temple. 

 

She hadn’t said anything, or looked up at him, but he felt her breath pick up slightly. A moment later she had relaxed even further into his embrace. With her warm body pressed against his, her soft hair brushing against his neck, he had felt content, happy. He had closed his eyes, intent on resting for only a few minutes.

 

Jon must have been more tired than he thought because before he knew it he was waking up with a crick in his neck and Sansa tapping him lightly on the forehead.

 

“—th to Jon, are you there—oh. Good. I thought I was going to have to carry you down.” Sansa had been smiling, her phone pointed at him. The sun had fully risen and had begun to heat up the stones he was resting on.

 

But there was a more immediate issue. Jon narrowed his eyes. “What were you doing with that phone?” 

 

Sansa pulled it back. “Oh, nothing.” She had sounded innocent enough, but her face had a mischievous look that Jon didn’t believe.

 

“Lemme see, then.” Jon had held out a hand for the phone. When Sansa moved it further out of his reach with a smile, Jon lunged. 

 

Sansa had shrieked, laughing, and rolled away. “It’s nothing! Just a couple of photos.” Her clothes had been all dusty from the ground, but she had paid them no mind. 

 

“Photos! That’s not nothing.” Jon had rolled over and crawled towards her. “Let me see.”

 

Sansa had scrambled to her feet and taken a few shuffling steps backward. A grin spread across her face. “I won’t show them anywhere, and I promise, they’re flattering. You’re very cute when you sleep.” 

 

“Cute?” Jon had stopped crawling and rolled over on the ground, holding a hand to his heart. He groaned. “Sansa, you’ll ruin me. I can’t be cute. My hardcore rockstar image will be shattered.”

 

Sansa had inched forward, until she was standing over him. She tilted her head as she looked down at him with a quizzical expression. “What image? You have an image?” 

 

Jon had clapped his other hand on top of his heart. “Dead. I’m dead.” 

 

“That’s an interesting image.”

 

Jon had pushed his sunglasses up until he could narrow his eyes at her. “I thought you were supposed to be nice to me.”

 

Sansa was clearly taking another photo of him on the ground. “That was never part of the agreement,” she had said absently.

 

And just like that, the illusion evaporated. For a split second, Jon had forgotten that they weren’t really together. That Sansa wasn’t really his girlfriend. That these weren’t real dates. 

 

Sansa hadn’t seemed to notice anything, but Jon’s heart felt like it was stuck in his throat. He couldn’t be _disappointed_ that this wasn’t true. 

 

He tried to shove the feeling aside. For the rest of the day, walking next to her, arm around her waist or holding her hand, Jon felt constantly off-kilter in one way or another. 

 

It was clear that it was becoming harder for him to tell where the illusion stopped and his own feelings began. Alone, when the illusion could have easily dropped, everything instead felt so much more real. 

 

To make it even more confusing, Sansa hadn't even posted the photos of him sleeping. When he had asked Arya, she had texted him back:

 

**ew why would she have photos of you ASLEEP**

 

**what have you been doing??????**

 

**no dont tell me. DONT. anyway she hasnt. see for yourself. dont you follow ur GIRLFRIEND on insta?**

 

Looking at Sansa's carefully curated profile, besides a few select photos of him or the two of them, there were none of the candid photos she had taken of him the past couple of weeks. The idea that she hadn't shared the pictures of him, and that he didn't want her to, despite how it would give weight to their illusion, threw him off. 

 

He tried to hide it, but it became clear that wasn’t working when Sam had approached him at rehearsal later that week. 

 

“Jon?”

 

Sam’s voice had nearly made Jon jump and drop his phone. He hurriedly shoved it in his front pocket and shot his friend and bandmate a smile that he hoped wasn’t nearly as unsure as it felt. “What’s up?”

 

Sam’s gaze darted down to Jon’s front pocket and back up. He looked concerned, which wasn’t unusual for Sam but still didn’t give Jon much comfort. “Are you okay?” 

 

“I’m fine,” Jon replied, too quickly. “What d’you need?”

 

Sam still seemed concerned. “The crew needs your input on a couple of things for the stage setup, and you’ve been really distracted this morning. Is this about—”

 

“It’s not Dany,” Jon interjected, grabbing Sam’s shoulder and steering him towards the backstage area. 

 

“—Sansa Stark?” Sam finished. 

 

Jon stopped. Sam was looking at him with genuine concern, and Jon knew his friend really cared about whatever the issue was. Even if it wasn’t one that Jon could really talk about, as he didn’t quite understand it himself. “What makes you say that?”

 

“Well, _everyone_ says you’re dating now. Which is a bit of a surprise, I’ll be honest, Jon. You never mentioned her before, besides, you know, that she’s Robb’s sister.” Sam tilted his head, trying to catch Jon’s eye. “How long has this been… going on?”

 

Jon shrugged. He and Sansa had agreed not to tell anyone beyond who already knew, which meant it was only the pair of them and Arya and Gendry, even if Arya swore Gendry barely remembered the night in question. They had even agreed not to tell Robb, which had led to one of the most uncomfortable conversations Jon had ever had with his best friend. 

 

Robb had pulled him close, his blue eyes steady on Jon as he warned, _that’s my sister and I know she can take care of herself, and I trust you, but remember that’s my sister and what happened to Joffrey Baratheon?_ Trust, he did remember.

 

And that wasn’t even counting the other individual conversations he had been cornered into having with every single one of the younger Starks. 

 

He would be lucky to come out of this relationship without dying, if it was up to one Stark sibling or another. 

 

“About a month?” Jon started to pull Sam towards the backstage area again. If they were going to have this conversation, Jon needed to be doing something else while they did it. 

 

“Is this why— is it why you and Dany—?” Sam dutifully followed Jon through the brightly-lit hallways at the back of the Guildhall of Alchemy Theatre, and kept his voice low when he continued, “—broke up _?_ ”

 

“No.”

 

“Okay, then, can I ask, why did you break up? For good, this time.”

 

Jon shrugged and looked around. Crew rushed past the pair of them, too busy getting ready for the tour’s final rehearsals to pay the bandmembers any mind. And it wasn’t exactly a secret, how his relationship with Dany had always been. 

 

“We weren’t talking anymore. We’d go weeks without speaking, when she’d be on location and I’d be here. And every time we would talk, it turned into a fight. I’m just— I was just _done_ with it.” 

 

Sam peered at him. “That’s not that different than usual, though. For you two. Were you and Sansa already…?”

 

“No,” Jon said shortly. “That's unrelated.”

 

Sam gave a rare scoff. “Unrelated? Not to put it this way, but breaking up with someone and immediately starting to date someone else is rarely, if ever, unrelated. In fact, I think the two are always going to be related.”

 

“It wasn’t immediate, and I didn’t— we didn’t plan on it. I was spending time at the house with Robb and Arya, and she was there. It just sort of… happened. But it was after Dany and I broke up. And it wasn’t why.”

 

Sam was quiet for a moment and Jon thought he might drop the subject. Jon led them down the back hallways to where the stage manager was standing, talking to one of their sound engineers. Right before Jon could escape to another, less personal conversation, Sam grabbed his arm and pulled him to the side. 

 

“Look, Jon,” Sam said, looking determined. “All I want to say is, I’m glad you’re happy. Gilly said she thinks this is the happiest you’ve looked for a long time, which, frankly, I agree with.”

 

“Thanks?” Jon wasn’t sure how to respond. 

 

After Arya, Sansa, Robb, their younger brother Bran Stark (of all people), and now his bandmates Gilly and Sam, all implied or outright stated he had looked miserable for the _last five years_ , Jon was beginning to suspect perhaps everyone had seen something in his relationship with Daenerys he had been too caught up to realise. 

 

“I’m just want to, maybe, warn you.” Sam looked nervous. “For the future. You don’t do things… casually.”

 

“You’re warning me about myself?” 

 

Sam tilted his head. “Sort of? I don’t know where you are with her, Sansa, yet, but you were with Daenerys for five years. A long time. And besides Ygritte, you really haven’t dated anyone else.”

 

Jon tried to keep his annoyance out of his voice. “Sam. What’s your point?”

 

“Sorry, it just worried me when you said it ‘just happened.’ I just want to make sure you’re alright, not rushing, or anything. Because it sounds like something that could get complicated. _Very_ complicated. Since she’s Robb’s sister. And Arya’s. Dunno who’d be scarier in that scenario.”

 

Jon could tell Sam was truly worried. He sighed. “I appreciate it, Sam. But it’s fine. I know I said it just happened, but she’s really—” Jon tried to think of an appropriate word for all that Sansa was turning out to be: her throaty laugh, the flash of her blue eyes as she teased him, her smart retorts and her strategising mind, the way she brushed her red hair out of her face with a casual hand, that slight hitch he thought he heard in her breath when she looked at him, how she was so kind to everyone and not worried about laughing at herself, “uh, great.”

 

“Great,” Sam repeated. 

 

He had looked at Jon as if he had been able to read every one of the thoughts that had flashed through Jon’s mind, and could come up with a million better words than just _great_. 

 

As if Jon’s problem was that he couldn’t think of a succinct way to describe Sansa. Not the fact that he was coming to look forward to their dates, or that he was thinking of her in the few spare moments he had, or that he was missing her when he couldn’t see her or hear her voice for a day. 

 

The real problem couldn’t be that Jon was forgetting it was all supposed to be fake. 

 

Jon shook his head at the din of the crowded bar. His conversation with Sam still spun around his head and it was throwing him off. 

 

As he made his way through the crowded room, he kept an eye out for Sansa's distinctive red hair, but with the amount of people packed inside the small room and the lights already turned down low, he could hardly see anyone but those he was directly next to. 

 

She had texted him something about being near the bar almost an hour ago, but making his way up there was a challenge in and of itself. When he finally made it up through the crush, he felt like he needed a breather and a drink. 

 

Scanning around, he didn't see Sansa in the crush up at the front, or the crowd already forming in front of the stage. He was just about to text her when he finally spotted a flash of that deep red hair in the crowd. She was sitting at the end of the bar closest to the stage, half-finished pint in front of her. 

 

Sansa looked casual enough, smiling and nodding along with a man leaning on the bar next to her. Tall and wearing a well-worn band shirt with an expensive leather jacket, the other man looked exactly like someone Sansa would be expected to date. 

 

For a second Jon felt an ugly twist of something like jealousy in his chest. It took him aback, the sharp pain of it, that for a second he just waited, not sure if he should go over there while he felt like he did. 

 

But as he continued to look, something struck Jon as wrong. Sansa's body language was turned away from the man, angled towards the bar. She was spinning her half-empty glass with one hand and her gaze would slide away from him in a way that perhaps the other man read as her being shy, but to Jon she looked uncomfortable. 

 

The sudden desire to get over to her changed from a low-simmering desire to a _need_. 

 

As if she could sense him, even halfway down the bar, Sansa looked up and caught his eye. It was only for a second, and her expression barely changed from its polite smile, but she tilted her head subtly, as if to call him over. 

 

Jon pushed through the crowd, this time with far less patience. He wondered where, and why, Sansa had come up with that subtle tell. Rounding the end of the bar, the man leaned in and touched Sansa on the shoulder. 

 

Sansa's smile seemed frozen on her face. "—thanks, but as I said, my boyfriend is coming right now. Oh!" with an exaggerated look of surprise, Sansa deliberately caught Jon's eye. "There he is!" 

 

She sprang out of her seat and pushed towards Jon, forcing the other man to drop his hand. 

 

Jon barely had enough time to see the man's friendly expression turn piercing before Sansa had thrown her arms around Jon's shoulders and was pressing herself to him. 

 

"Hi, babe," she said, loud enough for the man to hear her even over the din of the bar. 

 

Jon wasn't a good actor, but he didn't have to try hard to pull out what he guessed was an appropriately lovestruck expression for Sansa. Slipping his arms around her waist, he pulled her close. "Hi, love. Sorry I'm late."

 

He swore he could feel Sansa's arms tighten around him, which is why he did what he did next. He didn't mean to look down at her lips, or back up to her eyes, their bright blue like a beacon in the low light. 

 

But then Sansa slipped one of her hands around the back of her neck, fingers curling into his hair. She pulled him forward until their faces were only inches apart. For a heart-stopping second, their lips brushed against each other, chaste and sweet. 

 

Jon inhaled sharply, the floral scent of Sansa's perfume or her closeness making him dizzy. He felt Sansa's own breath hitch and then he was kissing her for real, pressing their lips together softly, wrapping one hand around the curve of her hip and the other coming up to cup her warm cheek. For a moment that was all he could focus on, not even the loud din of the bar-goers or the faraway sounds of the band tuning up, but just her, just Sansa. 

 

Sansa, her body arching up into his, her skin blazing under his hand, the slightest sound of a gasp as she leaned in and _kissed him back_ . In the midst of that heated, overcrowded room, Jon felt the rest of the world swirl away, until he wanted nothing but to pull Sansa closer, feel her chest rising against his own, that gasp turned to a moan. He hadn’t thought about it, not _really_ , but right now, Sansa, with her smile and her generous heart, her hands pushing up into his hair… 

 

Sansa's breath was uneven on his skin as she pulled away. Her eyes flashed up to his, flame-blue and piercing, and briefly she looked just as shaken as he felt. She licked her lips, which were now dark pink and slick. For a beat, he wondered if she would kiss him again. Then she turned around to her unwanted guest.

 

"This is my boyfriend, Jon Snow. Jon, this is… Daario, yes?" Her voice had gone back to its overly-polite tone. With her head turned to the side, he couldn’t catch her full expression. It was as if nothing strange had even happened. 

 

Nothing strange _had_ happened. Sansa had just kissed him, her _boyfriend_ , in greeting. Jon tried to wipe all vestiges of surprise from his expression and looked up at the man who was staring at him. He was very tall and built, with brown hair he had pushed back from a square-jawed, handsome face.

 

"Yes, Daario Naharis," the man said, his voice deep and with just the slightest trace of an accent. He held up his hand to shake. "Well met, Jon."

 

Jon shook his hand. "Nice to meet you." Jon kept his left arm around Sansa's waist, just as she kept her hand on his shoulder, her fingers slipping under the edge of his collar to slide against the sensitive skin there. It was very distracting. 

 

Daario looked at the two of them, amusement spreading over his face. 

 

"Thank you for your company, Sansa," Daario said at last, with a mysterious smile. "Enjoy your show. I'll see you soon."

 

Daario reached out for her hand, but before he could take it, Sansa raised it and gave him a small wave. "Goodbye," she said. 

 

If Jon wasn’t trying so very hard to seem serious, he would have laughed at the confusion that flashed across Daario’s face. But a moment later, it had smoothed over. Daario gave Sansa a small nod, Jon an unreadable look, and disappeared into the crowd. 

 

As soon as he was gone, Jon looked at Sansa. "Are you alright?"

 

Sansa shrugged, using her free hand to push her hair out of her face. The polite smile had dropped. "I'm fine. He wasn't bothering me, really."

 

Jon still hadn't let go of her waist. "You sure? He seemed to be very… close.”

 

Sansa sighed and pulled Jon towards their seats before someone tried to steal them. Jon felt unexpectedly bereft as he let go of Sansa to sit beside her. She still hadn’t responded. As they settled in, Jon mulled over Daario's last words. 

 

"What did he mean, see you soon?" 

 

Sansa shrugged, but it was clear something was bothering her. "It's nothing," she sighed. "Well, not nothing. I'm just not sure if you'll want to hear this, Jon."

 

Sansa looked over at him, worry creasing her brow. She so rarely allowed herself to look anything but perfectly together, Jon felt his stomach plummet. "What is it?"

 

Her gaze flickered away. "He came up to talk to me because he knows who I am. And who you are. He just wanted to introduce himself before we _both_ see him next week at Alanna's wedding." Sansa's gaze caught his confused expression. "Daario Naharis is Dany's new… well, he didn't say boyfriend, but apparently she is bringing him to the wedding as her date."

 

"Oh." 

 

It was hard to describe what chord the words _Dany’s new boyfriend_ struck in him. A couple of months ago, he would have felt, if not angry, then betrayed. He and Dany had always danced around each other when it came to moving on. Even in the months when they had been apart in the past, neither had dated anyone else. They had always been pulled back together one way or another— Dany had always called it _fate_ , with such belief that it made Jon believe, too, if only for a short time. And now it appeared that they were both moving on.

 

 _It’s over?_ Jon thought.  

 

Sansa covered his hand where it was resting on the table with her own, her fingers cool as they squeezed his. Absently, Jon turned his hand over and caught hers in a gentle grip, his mind still whirling. 

 

"I know it's slightly… strange,” she said softly. “He just appeared out of nowhere to talk to me. But after a minute, I remembered him. He’s worked on a couple of projects I’ve done with Valyrian Films; I think he’s some sort of producer. He was saying he met Dany in Essos a couple of weeks ago and kept asking me about you, how we met, how we got together...”

 

Jon looked up at her. “What did you tell him?”

 

“I told him the… you know, family friends turned relationship, about a month.” Sansa straightened up a little. “I didn’t tell him the plan, if that’s what you need to know.”

 

Jon shook his head. “I’d never think you’d tell him.” 

 

"I think he believed me. Us." She looked at him, her gaze impossible to read as she continued, "That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

 

It suddenly became clear what the strongest feeling was, swimming around in the emotional muck of his reaction to Dany moving on. It wasn’t jealousy, or anger, or betrayal, or anything painful twisting up his heart as it would have in the past. 

 

It was relief. 

 

He had been— still was— so _tired_. Tired of the fighting and the make-ups, the emotional push-pull that had always been been centerpiece of his and Dany’s relationship. Maybe they had been good for each other once, before they had developed their habits, but it had become draining, trying to keep whatever was good about their relationship alive. The promise of _fate_ or _destiny_ had grown stale, perhaps a long time ago. He was just seeing it now, but it had been like this for a while. 

 

 _And now it’s over_. Jon felt like something that had been weighing him down, an unwanted burden like a fur cloak, had fallen off and he was free of its weight. 

 

He squeezed Sansa’s hand, trying to put some of that swirling emotion into the touch, that feeling of lightness, of _happiness_. He smiled at her. 

 

“I trust you, Sansa,” he said, because it was true. He met her slightly taken-aback gaze with a warm one of his own. “It's good you made it clear. Now she’ll know for sure. So, thank you.”

 

Even if it sounded to him like he meant something other than _trust_. Something more. 

 

“Well, you’re welcome,” Sansa replied softly. She shot him a smile, even if she couldn’t quite meet his gaze. “I’m glad to help.”

 

It felt too serious between them, like Jon was about to say something he wasn’t ready to say just yet. So instead, he did what Robb always warned him against doing, and made a joke. “Now the real help we need is getting drinks.”

 

“Oh, that I can do, too,” Sansa replied with the same forced lightness. She turned to the bar, and before Jon could ask how she planned on getting service with all the people pushed up in line, one of the bartenders appeared before them. 

 

Wiping his hands on a towel, he shot Sansa a smile. “What I can get for you, milady?”

 

Jon had never had such fast service in his life. He suspected it had something to do with the way Sansa turned on an easy-going, flirtatious persona like switching on a light, smiling at the bartender’s jokes and leaning over the counter to ask him a question. Rather than be jealous of this, Jon was honestly impressed. 

 

Barely two minutes later, they each had their own drink and a wink from the bartender, to ‘let me know if either of you need anything else’. 

 

“That was amazing,” Jon said. He took a sip from his lager, watching as Sansa swirled her own drink with a straw before taking a pull. “That’s the fastest service I’ve ever had.” 

 

Sansa raised an eyebrow at him as she finished her sip. “Oh, it’s a skill,” she replied with fake haughtiness. “I trained with the wise women of The Shivering Sea for seven years to have this ability.” 

 

Jon laughed. “Considering I’ve waited in this exact bar, when it’s been this busy, for more than half an hour to be served, I’ll drink to that. You’re amazing.” 

 

Sansa’s faux-conceit faltered slightly. She raised one shoulder in a half-shrug, clearly embarrassed. “Thank you."

 

Jon raised his glass slightly to Sansa. “To the wise women of the Shivering Sea.”

 

Tapping her glass on Jon’s, Sansa hid a smile. “Cheers.”

 

As they both took a sip, The Freefolk band members made their way onstage to raucous applause from the crowd. Their leader, Jon’s friend and a consummate flirt, Tormund raised his arms and gave the crowd a big grin. 

 

The applause grew to a cheer and the bassist of the band strummed the opening chord of the song which turned into a piercing wail. 

 

Jon looked at the woman next to him. Sansa looked more relaxed now, leaning back on the bar as they watched the band launch into their first song. In her black jeans and cutoff shirt, her hair falling over her shoulders as she nodded along to the music, she looked like a girl Jon might have approached at a bar like this, after playing a good set up on the small stage. 

 

But that was before Direwolf became famous, before trips like this were rare and to be savoured, before Dany and his personal life became splashed across tabloids and dissected by people on the internet. That was before it was so obvious he was damaged. That was all before.

 

And in a week it would be over. Alanna's wedding would go by and he and Sansa would break up. The illusion would be shattered, which he could only be grateful for. He wouldn't need to see her all the time, or hear her voice, or laugh with her. His life would go back to semi-normality and Sansa could explain to her family it was all just a favor. She'd be okay. 

 

It was Jon who felt like that future seemed bleaker than any other before. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Arya came by to pick Sansa up for the wedding. Jon had been roped into the preparations and had to go over early to his sister's house, so they couldn't arrive together. And calm as Sansa pretended to be, she didn't want to show up alone.

 

They drove over the bridge from King's Landing to Kingswood chatting about everything but Jon and Daenerys. Sansa wouldn't even know what she would say about the situation, or the wedding they were about to attend, even if Arya were to ask.

 

Sansa had begun to dread this day, although not for the reason anyone would expect. Tomorrow this would be over. Alanna and Rhaenys would be married. Direwolf would leave for their three month tour in two days. And Jon… 

 

Sansa blinked and looked out over the water of Blackwater Rush, the wide expanse of the estuary glimmering in the afternoon sunlight. The morning sun had risen into the warm and cloudless sky and was making its slow descent into the Western horizon. By the time they reached the venue at the edge of the Kingswood, the sun would be setting through the pine trees, throwing the lush green canopy into a palette of red and gold. 

 

It was a beautiful summer's day, perfect for a wedding. And yet the beauty barely touched her.

 

They hadn't discussed it in detail, the breakup. How it should happen, who would tell the press, when to do it, nothing. Sansa had thought of bringing it up during the last couple their dates, but there never seemed to be a good time. 

 

How could one casually bring up, 'So, how do you want to stage our breakup from this fake relationship?' without inevitably bringing the mood down? It was impossible. And Sansa had wanted to enjoy the last few days with Jon, even if it meant ignoring for a moment the reality that was about to crash down on her head.

 

Jon hadn't mentioned it either, though this whole thing had been for him. It gave her a painful twinge of hope, that he didn't seem concerned with ending their relationship. But what a small sliver of hope it was against the rest of it. 

 

"Hey." 

 

Sansa looked over at Arya. "What?"

 

With big black sunglasses on and her leather jacket thrown over a slim-cut black suit, her sister looked like a miniature bodyguard. Arya sealed the deal by saying, "Let me know if Dany is giving you any trouble tonight. I'll take care of it."

 

Sansa couldn't help her small laugh, rising over the pain in her heart. "What do you mean, take care of it?" She swallowed, hating how her voice warbled slightly, and tried to joke, "Are you going to stab her?" 

 

Arya, never one to soothe, just frowned. "I would, but mum took away Needle last week. Something about how young ladies shouldn't carry weapons they can't handle. As if I haven't trained with it! Just because I was trying to show it to Rickon and he cut his hand..."

 

"How would Alanna feel about you bringing a switchblade to her wedding?" 

 

"She gave it to Jon when he turned _twelve,_  who then gave it to me. At least I'm over the legal age to own a knife. So, she'd probably be okay with it."

 

"Jon gave you Needle?" Sansa raised her brows. "I never knew that."

 

"Well, he knew I wanted a knife, and I think he guessed he might as well give me a good one. Plus then he got really sentimental about it, and taught me some basics." Arya grinned at Sansa. "What's the level of irony, d’you figure, on me stabbing Dany with Jon's knife?"

 

Sansa smiled at Arya trying, in her way, to cheer her up. "I think irony would only apply if you stabbed Jon with his own knife."

 

Arya tilted her head, considering. “You’re right.” She turned the car off onto a small side road that cut around the edge of the Kingswood. As the they neared the entrance to the venue and she pulled to a stop, Arya turned to Sansa. She pushed her dark sunglasses off her face and fixed Sansa with look.  “I’m serious, though. If you need help, let me know.”

 

“Thanks.” Sansa took Arya’s proffered hand and squeezed. Already she was feeling more in control, and her voice was steady when she spoke next. “But I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

 

Alanna Snow and Rhaenys Targaryen’s wedding was set in the heart of the Kingswood, in the central grove where the huge oak trees formed a perfect circle around a soft green meadow. Legend had it that once the largest oak had stood in the centre, and if two people promised themselves under the fell shadow of its branches, their love would last a lifetime. Most had dismissed the legends, said it to be as worthless as the dust the the great oak had become, centuries ago. But it was still incredibly popular as a wedding spot. Seats had been set up on the grass and already so many guests had arrived. The surrounding trees were strung with hundreds of fairy lights, already alight in the shadows cast by the forest. The space felt ethereal, magic. 

 

Arya just muttered something under her breath as they walked over to rest of the Stark family. It was, strangely, a comfort to Sansa to have them here. Her father in his old-fashioned suit and her mother in her high-necked formal gown, Bran with his skinny tie and no jacket, Rickon with his bowtie and a big bandage around his left hand. Robb, of course, stood with them, his arm around the waist of Margaerey Tyrell, his longtime girlfriend. 

 

And there, with them, his dark hair catching the soft light of the fairy lights as he nodded, saying something to Robb— Sansa’s breath caught. Jon, of course. She thought he’d be too busy to come out and talk to them until after the ceremony was over, but he must have had a few spare minutes.

 

She greeted her family and Margaery, coming at last to Jon. “Hi.”

 

Jon took her hands in his, looking very serious. “Hello.” 

 

Sansa had to struggle not to laugh. He was so clearly trying to be respectful of her family, who were doing their very best to _not_ look at the pair of them, and it was painfully awkward in a sweet way. Cupping Jon’s bearded cheek, Sansa leaned in and, just as if they did this every day, kissed him softly in greeting. With a smile, she pulled back. “Hello.”

 

Jon opened his eyes slowly. He seemed slightly dazed. “Er, hi.” 

 

“You already said that,” Arya cut in. She was staring at them, arms crossed across her chest.

 

“I know.” Sansa gave her sister a look, to not make this any more awkward than this needed to be. “Thanks.”

 

Arya narrowed her eyes. 

 

“Arya!” Catelyn Stark motioned at her with one hand to come over. “Leave them alone.” 

 

Arya gave them both an unreadable look for a long moment before turning away. 

 

“Come with me for a second.” Jon pulled Sansa away, towards the edge of the meadow, where the trees spread cool shadows across the grass. The air smelled like pine, sharper and cleaner, almost like Winterfell in the spring. Sansa could just barely hear the murmur of conversation from the guests in the clearing, but here, shadowed by the huge oaks, it seemed as if they were in their own private world. 

 

Jon turned to her, not letting go of her hand. He smiled, looking almost nervous. “I have to get back in a minute, but there was something…” he rummaged around in the pockets of his tuxedo, finally having to drop Sansa’s hand as he searched. “Shit, did I—” he muttered, before he found what he was looking for. 

 

It was a small box. 

 

“I know it was a joke when you said it, and I don’t have a class ring, but thought I could get you this.  With a tentative grin, Jon asked, “Do you want to go steady?”

 

Jon opened the box to reveal a fine golden necklace with a single rose pendant. Its delicate white petals were opening, just on the edge of blooming, and the filigree of the golden leaves glimmered in the low light. “I know it’s not, um. A lot. And it might not go with—”

 

“Jon,” Sansa cut in. She clasped her hands around Jon’s, not even looking at the necklace. She looked at the man across from her, with his black hair half pulled back, his dark eyes and serious gaze that could easily lift to smiling, heartfelt and earnest and _impossible_.  

 

She wanted to kiss him, so badly, but she held herself back. This skirted the edge of their arrangement, on the fine edge between real and not-real. If Sansa took it to mean more than it did, how much would it hurt when they finally broke up? Words, more serious than could be ever said, far, far more than Jon wanted to hear, rose up, and Sansa pushed them back. “It’s beautiful, thank you.” 

 

The corner of Jon’s mouth lifted, but the smile didn’t quite meet his eyes. Sansa wondered what he could see in her expression, no matter how hard she tried not to show anything. 

 

“Why don’t you help me put it on?” She turned around and pulled her hair off of her neck. 

 

Jon stepped up behind her and wrapped the necklace around her, his fingers brushing against the back of her neck as he clasped the mechanism shut. A breath passed, just the ghost of his fingers across her neck, and then Jon’s warm hands slid down her shoulders. Her heart felt like it was beating in her ears, it was so loud.

 

Jon tilted his head, pressing his forehead to her hair. “Sansa…” he murmured. 

 

Before she could respond, a voice cut in. “Jon!” 

 

They both started and looked over to see Lyanna Stark standing not ten feet to their left, in a beautiful silver dress. She was staring at Jon as if she was one second from dragging him away by his ear.

 

“The ceremony is _about to start_ , your sister has been wondering where you were, but I see where you’ve been. Hello, Sansa, dear.” Lyanna came over and gave Sansa a quick kiss on each cheek, brisk as ever but just as heartfelt. “Lovely to hear the news. I’ll come see you after the ceremony. Now come, Jon.”

 

And with a final glance over his shoulder, Jon hurried after his mother. Sansa collected herself and hurried back to the meadow, where most guests were already seated and waiting. 

 

As she made her way next to Arya, a bell chimed three times in quick succession, and she hurriedly took her seats. 

 

The upper canopy of the oak grove was aglow with the golden sunlight and seven lanterns had been set up in a circle around the central dais. Sansa was struck by how well the two combined the folk traditions of the North, with the traditional ceremonies held in the Godswood, and the religion of the South, with their seven-faced God and the circular septs. 

 

A hidden quartet of musicians started to play a soft melody, and the whole gathering turned to the entrance of the grove. 

 

The Snows stood there, Lyanna on her son's arm. Jon walked his mother up the aisle, looking very handsome and solemn in his black tuxedo and his hair half-pulled back. He looked a lot like his mother, with her short curly hair and square jaw. When he led Lyanna to their seats at the front and turned to look back, he caught Sansa's eye. 

 

Sansa nearly turned away, embarrassed to be caught staring, but Jon smiled, his features softening, that solemn look on his face fading away into something heartfelt, something nearly _longing_. It nearly hurt for Sansa to look back at him, aware her eyes were full of the same emotion. 

 

And then came Daenerys. Sansa had met her briefly over the years, mostly at film events, where the other woman had been polite, although never very forthcoming. In a shimmering blue gown with gold embroidery, with her silvery-blonde hair in elaborate braids down her back, Daenerys looked regal as she glided down the aisle. Even though her brother Viserys walked at her side, looking somewhat less impressive in his tuxedo, she still seemed to walk alone, as if she were untouchable.

 

Daenerys didn't look at anyone until she was about to take her seat in the front row, when she shot a quick glance across the aisle. Jon was staring at her, blank-faced, but at her look, turned away. But before Sansa could think about what that meant, the music rose and stopped. Everyone stood and turned for the entrance of the brides.

 

At last, Alanna Snow, in a white suit with her black curls falling over her shoulders, came from one side of the edge of the woods to the end of the aisle. A moment later, Rhaenys Targaryen emerged from the other side swathed in diaphanous black tulle, with blood-red flowers spilling down the front of the gown. The music swelled as the pair smiled at each other excitedly, clasped their hands and began to walk down the aisle together. 

 

Rhaenys, like her younger sister, had the Targaryen straight white-blonde hair, and Alanna had the Snow family black curls. As the pair walked past, it struck Sansa that that's what Jon and Dany would have looked like, too. Beautiful and matched as they stood together on the dais, the air full of music and the trees full of light, exchanging vows before their family and friends.  

 

Sansa didn't know why the image made her breath difficult to draw, pain blooming in her chest. 

 

-

 

Later, the ceremony had long been over and the tables that had been brought out for the wedding feast were being cleared of empty plates and half-drunk glasses, Jon and Sansa were finally alone. 

 

Most of the guests were dancing in the centre of the meadow, or mingling around the edge, talking and laughing. Sansa watched them all as if they were very far away, their laughter echoing through the woods, their joy passing through her as if through smoke. 

 

Jon touched her lightly on the shoulder. "D'you want one?" He was holding two glasses of wine and he gave one to her when she held her hand up. 

 

Sansa took an absent sip of wine, her eyes tracing over the crowd. She hadn't seen Daenerys or her date—Daario Naharis, as promised— in a while. It was almost unnecessary to keep tabs on her, as Jon's gaze seemed to unerringly find Daenerys in the crowd no matter where she was. Throughout dinner, though he smiled and went along with the conversation, his eyes would inevitably slide across the meadow to the table where Daenerys Targaryen sat, her silvery hair a beacon amongst the moving guests. 

 

Sansa had made no comment about it, unable to plan what to say and unwilling to say what felt most relevant. It was Jon who had shut the door on that relationship, who had chosen to move on in whatever way he chose. He had decided on the fake relationship with Sansa as a way of keeping Daenerys from trying to get back together, but if that’s what he truly wanted now, there was no way she could stand in his way. It seemed obvious he hadn’t moved on as much as he thought. 

 

Sansa’s hand rose absently up toward her neck. She caught herself before she could touch the rose pendant, aware Jon was sitting right beside her, and brushed her hair over her shoulder instead. 

 

She let out a slow breath and calm settled over her. Instead of her thoughts, she focussed on the guests swirling around the grass, the music gone slow and the dances less formal as the night deepened and everyone got more in their cups. 

 

Jon had asked her to dance at the beginning of the night and of course, she had said yes. Though the night was beautiful and he held her close as they spun across the grass together, it was obvious he was distracted. 

 

Perhaps aware of this or perhaps otherwise preoccupied, he hadn’t asked her again. 

 

“Is everything alright, Sansa?” Jon leaned in, looking up at her. Sometime in the evening his collar had come undone and the first couple of buttons on his shirt opened. 

 

Sansa smiled, though it felt pallid. “Everything’s fine.”

 

Jon’s brow crinkled, his dark eyes unwavering from her face. For a moment Sansa worried he would ask again, his voice low and warm, concern clear in his gaze. If he did, she couldn’t lie. 

 

Sansa looked out at the dancers again, trying to steady herself, and caught a flash of silver and blue amongst the movement. Daenerys and Daario, looking into each other’s eyes as they twirled slowly across the grass. Even from afar, they made a striking pair. 

 

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Jon asked, cutting in over her thoughts. He stood rather abruptly and held out a hand, his back turned to the dancers. She didn’t know if he had seen Daario and Daenerys, but she supposed it didn’t really matter.

 

“Sure.” Sansa put her hand lightly in his as she stood, meaning to take it back, but Jon tucked her hand around his arm and pulled it close. 

 

They headed down one of the many small paths that branched off the central meadow. Under the heavy branches, the navy blue sky was hardly visible, but each path had been lined with strings of fairy lights, spreading a soft glow across the ground and appearing in golden-brown snatches through the trees, like will-o-the-wisps. Pine needles crackled under their footsteps and the sound of the party grew softer and softer still as they walked slowly through the trees.

 

The further way they drew from the central meadow, the more calm Sansa felt. With the forest surrounding them and the soft sounds of the night their only companions, she felt her previous anxiety slide away. 

 

“I’m thinking of going back to Winterfell, after the tour finishes up,” Jon said, interrupting her thoughts. He drew to a stop and Sansa beside him. The low lights softened his features, made them difficult to read, as he turned to her. 

 

“That sounds lovely,” she murmured, when it seemed he was waiting for an answer. “It’ll be good to rest, after your tour.”

 

“When was the last time you went?” 

 

Sansa shrugged, trying to think back. “Not for a couple of years. I think Rickon must have been in primary school, since my parents bought the house here after that. How long do you think you’ll stay up there?”

 

Jon’s gaze slid away. “It depends.” 

 

“On what?” 

 

“On some things.” Jon took a deep breath and when he looked up at her, it was with such softness Sansa felt her heart skip a beat. “Will you go with me?” 

 

“That’s after…” Sansa began in a quiet voice, not sure what she was saying. Or what it meant. That tiny sliver of hope dug a little deeper in heart with exquisite pain. Jon was just looking at her, chest rising and falling perhaps a little quicker than usual and Sansa forgot, for a moment, the concerns that had swum around her mind that evening. Her free hand rose, as if to touch his chest or the side of his bearded cheek. “I…”

 

“These past few weeks, I— uh. It’s to thank you, for all of it.” Jon gave her a tentative smile. 

 

The illusion that had wrapped the moment close and cast it in such a rosy glow, imbued it with meaning beyond that which it deserved, shattered and fell under the weight of Sansa’s expectations. It was so clear. She snatched her hand back and pressed it against her stomach, trying to ignore the sudden ill feeling. She tried to return the smile. 

 

“Thank you. I’d love to. But I’ll have to see if I have time.”

 

Jon ducked his head. “Ah, right. ‘Course. You’re busy.” He sounded disappointed. 

 

Before Sansa could say anything else, the sound of footsteps on the soft earth approached. 

 

“Jon.”

 

Both Sansa and Jon jumped, as if they had been caught doing something they shouldn’t have. 

 

Daenerys stood a few feet behind them on the forest path, alone. She looked as impeccably put together as usual, but her pale cheeks were flushed pink. Her eyes, that distinctive Targaryen violet, slid from Jon to Sansa, across their clasped hands, and back. She frowned.

 

Jon seemed to have lost his tongue and was just staring at Daenerys in shock, so Sansa gave the other woman a polite smile. “Good evening, Dany.” 

 

A flicker of annoyance flashed across Daenerys’ expressive face, before her professional demeanor slid on. “Good evening, Sansa. Do you mind if I speak with my— with Jon for a minute, alone?” 

 

Sansa squeezed Jon’s arm discreetly as she looked up at him. He still hadn’t spoken or given any indication of what he wanted her to do. “I’ll see you in a minute,” Sansa said softly as she leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Keeping up appearances was one thing she could do in this situation. 

 

But as she pulled away, Jon’s grip tightened. “No, it’s okay.” He gave Sansa a crooked smile. “Stay, Sansa, please,” he murmured. 

 

Hiding her reluctance, Sansa pressed close to Jon and turned to look at Daenerys. 

 

“What do you want to talk about, Dany?” Jon sounded weary, as if already anticipating what the conversation would be. 

 

Daenerys, true to form, took Sansa’s remaining in stride. She took a breath and stepped closer, her eyes only on Jon. “I want to talk about us, Jon.”

 

“I don’t think there’s anything to say.”

 

“Well, you’re wrong.”

 

“What a surprise,” Jon snapped, unusually sarcastic. “I’m wrong.”

 

Daenerys glared at him. “There’s a lot to talk about, and I haven’t been able to reach you for weeks. _Weeks._ I’ve been trying to call you, trying to send you messages, but you’ve been ignoring them. Is that the way to deal with this?”

 

“You’ve been trying? You’ve been in Essos with—” Jon exhaled sharply and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t have mattered either way. Dany, we both agreed it was time.”

 

“No, _you_ decided. You decided, Jon, and then you left and blocked my number—”

 

“Oh, that’s what Arya did,” Jon muttered under his breath. 

 

Daenerys didn’t appear to hear him, her eyes flashing with anger as she continued “—and now you’ve shown up to _my sister_ ’s wedding with someone else. Do you see how insulting that might seem, to me, and in front of all our friends? It’s their biggest day and everyone was just talking about us. You’ve nearly ruined it for Rhaenys, and Alanna.”

 

Sansa wanted to roll her eyes in a rare moment of annoyance. No one had been talking about Jon and Daenerys, not like they had been talking about the brides. 

 

“I brought my _girlfriend._ ” Jon frowned. “And it’s also _my_ sister’s wedding. Don’t drag Rhaenys and Alanna into this. You brought someone else, too. Daario.”

 

“Yes, to keep up appearances. When I heard you were in a new relationship, I knew I needed someone else to come with.” Daenerys looked up at him, her softened features limned by the yellow glow of the fairy lights. “But he’s not important, not in the way you are. Not the way we are. Just you and me, Jon, we’re the ones who should be together. Don’t you understand?”

 

Jon’s gaze flashed over to Sansa before turning on Daenerys. “Sansa is important. We’re together, now, Dany. You need to understand that.”

 

Sansa felt trapped in the middle of a private conversation she should not have been hearing, just there as a stopgap to keep Daenerys away. It was what she had agreed to, in the beginning, but her stomach twisted uncomfortably.

 

“Please, Jon,” Daenerys said, voice entreating as she took another step closer. Up close, she looked less put together, her violet eyes wide and glimmering with tears. She was just a young woman, her heart being broken, and Sansa understood that as well as most. “It’s been us since the beginning. Through everything, before we became anything else, it was always just us. No one else. That’s what you want to throw away, five years of us, all we’ve become? For what? For her?”

 

“Yes, for her!” Jon nearly shouted, just on the edge of losing his temper. Sansa had never seen him like this, and though he had said what she should want to hear, that he wanted _her_ , the words were tainted by the suddenly weary look on his face. He didn’t even look at Sansa. “I’m sorry, Dany. We’ve done this so many times before and we end up in the same spot _every single time_.”

 

“We’re the only ones who understand each other, Jon. No one else will be able to, not like we do.”

 

“That’s…It’s just, I—I can’t keep doing this. It’s too much, it’s too painful.” Jon rubbed his forehead with his free hand, looking pained. 

 

Daenerys took a sharp breath, her voice full of emotion when she spoke. “I love you, Jon.”

 

Sansa felt the ground give way beneath her, at the trembling words, the look on Daenerys’ face, the look on Jon’s. She held onto his arm, aware if she let go she’d fall straight through the darkness beneath her feet, and keep falling. 

 

“Please…” Daenerys’ eyes were trained on Jon. “You know it should be us.”

 

“I… I loved you,” Jon said softly, looking at Daenerys with a tenderness that Sansa couldn’t allow herself to take in. His voice steadied, back to its usual timbre. “But we have to move on. This is over. Please, Dany.” 

 

Daenerys’ chest heaved, as if she were holding back a sob, but when she looked up there was little sadness on her expression. She looked angry, and in pain. 

 

Jon’s grip on Sansa’s arm loosened. He reached out, almost close enough to touch Daenerys’ shoulder. Before he could, Daenerys flinched back. 

 

“Don’t,” Daenerys hissed. “Don’t touch me. You don't have that right anymore.” She gathered herself up, with that regal posture she had always worn as a mantle, or a set of armor, and fixed Jon with a sharp look. “Goodbye, Jon.”

 

Before Jon could respond, Daenerys had turned away. She strode up the path, her shoulders back and her silvery hair rippling under the low light like a crashing wave. Soon she had been swallowed by the darkness, and Jon and Sansa were left in the quiet of the wood, watching her go.

 

-

 

When Jon and Sansa reappeared in the central clearing, the party was still going. Neither Daenerys nor Daario were visible in the crowd. 

 

They had hardly gone two steps into the clearing when Arya appeared at Sansa's elbow, seemingly from nowhere. She had her hands clasped behind her back in a manner not unlike a bodyguard. 

 

Arya shot Jon an unreadable look. "Jon."

 

"What?” Jon asked, sounding weary.

 

"Your mum's been looking for you. She's over by the dais." Arya indicated the direction with a jut of her chin. When Jon took a step but hesitated, his hand still wrapped loosely around Sansa's wrist, Arya narrowed her eyes. "She's been looking for you for half an hour, she said. You'd better go." 

 

Jon looked between Arya and Sansa, but at last gave Sansa's wrist a final squeeze. He hesitated a moment more and then leaned in and pressed a quick, soft kiss to Sansa's lips. Like a goodbye. Then he was gone.

 

Sansa watched him go, relief washing over her, fighting with the illness that was twisting up her stomach. 

 

It was over. Though she obviously wasn’t happy about it, Daenerys had said so herself. It seemed Sansa had finished up her obligation. 

 

 _I loved you…_ Jon’s words dug their claws deep in Sansa’s chest. Past tense, but still weighted heavily by present emotion.

 

Too many feelings swum around her: relief, hope, anger, pity, disappointment, until she felt so lightheaded the lights of the party spun in swirling, dizzying patterns across her vision. _Like stars, or ghosts._

 

Sansa wanted so badly just to sit down and rest, but she knew she should stay with Jon until Daenerys left, at least. 

 

As if reading her thoughts, Arya said, " _Dany_ left a quarter of an hour ago. She stormed off, didn't even say goodbye to her sister. I saw her and her date in their car, leaving. 'Course he drives some kind of sports convertible," Arya scoffed. "Anyway, Robb's waiting to take you home. C'mon."

 

Arya took Sansa's arm and steered her towards the main entrance to the clearing. 

 

Sansa let her. If Daenerys was gone, then Jon wouldn't need her there. And there were far too many things for her to think about right now. They skirted the edge of the meadow, avoiding the drunken revelers and dancers. Sansa couldn’t feel any further removed from the present revelry than she already did. When they stepped under the canopy of the huge oaks, the sound dampened down to almost nothing but their footsteps across the soft ground. 

 

"I saw what happened."

 

Sansa looked at her sister, but Arya was staring straight ahead. "What?"

 

"I said, I saw what happened. With you and Jon, and Daenerys."

 

Sansa tried to laugh, but it came out halfheartedly. She wondered if Arya had heard Jon asking her about Winterfell, about taking a trip together after the tour was over. She wondered if Arya knew what it might have meant, before— _I loved…_ "How? Were you hanging in one of the trees?"

 

Arya ignored her weak joke. "That wasn't fair. What he did, having you there for that. He should have let you leave. He's an adult. He needs to make his own damn decisions, not use you as an excuse."

 

"But that's the whole reason why I agreed to help him. To stop Daenerys from— from— getting him back."

 

"No, that's _never_ what I meant. You weren't meant to be a human shield, Sansa. Your name, maybe a rumor of you dating. That's it. You’re not a moving piece in their bizarre cat-and-mouse shit. He should have done that part alone.” Arya’s gaze flashed over to Sansa, blazing with anger. “He wasn't supposed to hurt you." 

 

"He didn't."

 

They had reached the curve of the road leading out of the Kingswood. A bit further down the road, Robb's silver car was idling near the kerb. 

 

Arya looked up at her, dark brows cutting across her face. "So, this was all fine, all just a favour?" Arya's voice had hardened, like she knew someone was lying to her. “You don’t care?”

 

Sansa knew the anger wasn't aimed at her, really, but it cut her still. Her throat hurt, her voice stolen by a cruel hand, and her eyes stung with tears.

 

"Was it just a favour?" 

 

Sansa’s face flushed with heat. She felt the façade slip, just slightly. "It…" she began, her voice barely louder than a whisper. She was going to lie. How much simpler that would be, swallowing back this unwanted emotion. But looking at her sister, dark eyes so serious, Sansa knew she wouldn’t lie. At least not to Arya. "No. It wasn't." 

 

Arya's gaze flashed over her face. Surprise, perhaps, lifted her serious expression, followed close behind by understanding. Arya's eyes went wide. "Sansa…"

 

She seemed utterly gobsmacked. 

 

"Please don't say anything to him," Sansa said quickly. “He doesn’t know.”

 

Sharing the secret was almost worse than never saying anything. Now that it was out in the air, the words felt more real, more able to hurt. Sansa felt moments away from falling to her knees and crying there at the kerb, and she knew if she did she would never get up. 

 

So, she gathered what strength she had left and smiled waveringly. "I have to go. Robb is waiting." 

 

Arya shut her mouth. For a second, she looked as though she was going to say something. But then she stood on her tiptoes and threw her arms around Sansa's shoulders, drawing her in for a fierce hug. 

 

Sansa covered her shock and slid her arms around her sister's waist, pulling her close. Arya was rigid in her arms as a bow pulled taut, ready to loose an arrow.  

 

Just as suddenly as she had embraced her, Arya released Sansa. Her expression was impossible to discern but her hands were clenched tight by her sides. 

 

Sansa touched her on the shoulder and turned to get in Robb's waiting car. Margaery was next to him in the passenger seat so Sansa sank gratefully into the dark backseat. 

 

Robb turned to look at her, brow raised. He had obviously been watching them through the windshield. "What was that about?"

 

Margaery looked back at Sansa, her green eyes half-lit by the dashboard lights. Always imminently perceptive, she seemed to sense Sansa's emotions in a moment. She turned back and shook her head imperceptibly at Robb. 

 

"What?" Robb whispered. 

 

Margaery placed her hand on his where it rested on the center console. "Let's go home. I'm sure Sansa is tired."

 

Robb took the hint and shifted the car into gear. They turned onto the dark road, leaving the lights of the party behind. In a moment there was nothing before them but the quick shadows of passing trees and the white lines of the road.

 

Sansa was grateful for Margaery's intuition and kind guidance with Robb, but seeing their two hands intertwined on the center console made her heart ache for something she didn’t want to name. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The morning the tour was set to begin, Jon paced back and forth across his small kitchen, staring at his phone. It had been two days since the wedding and he had heard nothing from Sansa. He had tried to call her that night, after he couldn't find her in the crowd, but she hadn't picked up. 

 

"She went home with Robb and Margaery. She's probably asleep.” Arya gave him a blank look when he had finally tracked her down.

 

"Why'd she leave without saying anything?" 

 

Arya shrugged. "'S'tired, I suppose."

 

Jon shook his head, feeling certain something wasn’t right. After the talk with Dany, where they had finally, finally cleared up whatever was left between them, he had felt able to tell Sansa: _I want to be with you, for real this time._ It was unusual for Sansa to have have left, unless she was truly upset, or sick. 

 

“Was she—” Jon struggled to find the right words for it, but even to Arya, he couldn’t say it. _Was she upset? Does she never want to see me again?_ “Is she alright?”

 

Arya stared at him, not answering. 

 

“Why’d you make her stay?” she finally asked, an unexpected anger making her voice sharp. 

 

“What?”

 

“You made her stay for that shit with Daenerys. Why?” 

 

“She told you that?”

 

“All of your secrets are safe with Sansa. She wouldn’t tell me even if tried to ask.” Arya rolled her eyes. “I heard you talking.”

 

“You eavesdropped?”

 

“First, it’s not eavesdropping if you’re in a public space, having a private conversation loud enough for anyone in a twenty meter radius to hear. Second, _why would you make her stay?_ ”  

 

“I…” Jon thought of Sansa’s pale face as they had walked back to the meadow, her silence now cast in a terribly different light. It had been nothing like the comfortable quiet between them as they had started down that trail not a half hour past, the only thing on Jon’s mind then figuring out how to tell Sansa… what? 

 

 _I’m falling for you._ He thought he’d sound like the lead in a cheesy romantic film. Which is why he hadn’t said it when he had given her the necklace, or the half-dozen other ways he had thought of during the wedding, to ask Sansa if she wanted to be with him. 

 

And instead of some romantic declaration in the woods that reminded them both so strongly of home, trees full of light and soft music, he had made her stand there while he and Daenerys broke up. And Daenerys had said _I love you._

 

And he had said _I loved you_. 

 

Wrong romantic declaration. He had spent the whole wedding trying to keep track of where Daenerys was so he could avoid a confrontation, and as per usual, she had interrupted at the absolute worst time. 

 

“Jon.”

 

Jon blinked. “Why is that important?”

 

Arya looked half a breath away from strangling him. “Jon, you made _your girlfriend_ watch you break up with your ex. Do you get why that might be— I dunno? Bad? Bloody uncomfortable?”

 

“She said she’d stay,” Jon replied hoarsely. He didn’t even bother protesting that Sansa wasn’t his real girlfriend. It seemed obvious, even to Arya, that it wasn’t fake for him anymore.

 

“Because you _asked_ . She did that for _you._ What have you done for her?" Arya closed her eyes and shook her head. “What in the seven hells are you doing?”

 

When Jon couldn't come up with an answer, Arya had turned back to her conversation with Bran in an obvious dismissal. Jon was left alone to wrestle with the words bouncing around his head. 

 

And now a car was due to come pick him up in less than hour to take him to the tour bus. Sansa hadn't called him back. 

 

Why would she? Her favour was up. Jon had made it to the start of his tour without falling back into the trap of his old relationship. He had broken up with Dany, this time for good. Everything that needed to be accomplished had been accomplished. Sansa had owed him nothing in the beginning and had still given so much, and here at the end it was Jon, again, asking for more. 

 

How could you call your fake girlfriend and ask if she had wanted your faux-relationship to be real from the beginning, too? He hadn't realised it when they started, but looking back it seemed so blindingly obvious.

 

From the moment Sansa had tilted her head, standing in the doorframe of the Stark family sitting room, and said, "Let me know when you want to go steady,” Jon had wanted it to be real.

 

Her words had been a joke, but everything that came after felt achingly real. The dates that made him laugh, their endless conversations, Sansa's arms around him, his fingertips across her skin, those too-brief kisses. The way she had looked at him when there was no one else around and she looked like she felt something for him, too. 

 

Maybe he had hoped too much, read too much into everything. And yet he’d never know if he didn’t ask, even if it meant destroying all the hope he held protectively in his heart. 

 

Jon groaned and dropped his phone onto the counter. Bracing his hands on the edge of the cut marble, he stared at the black screen as if willing it to show an incoming call, a text, _anything_. 

 

But he knew he had to do it. He snatched up the phone and had swiped across Sansa's name before he could talk himself out of it. 

 

Feeling jittery, he started pacing again. The phone rang a few times and Jon was almost sure it'd go to voicemail again, when Sansa's voice finally came on the other end. 

 

"Hello?" 

 

Jon stopped, leaning casually against the counter as if he hadn’t just been pacing around the room like a madman. "Sansa? Er, hello."

 

There was a pause. "Jon? Is there something wrong?" 

 

"No? That's not… how are you?" Jon felt like hitting his forehead on the countertop. It was like the most awkward small talk he had ever made with someone at a bar. This was not how he had thought this conversation would go. 

 

The problem was, he hadn’t really thought of how this conversation should go. He should have planned something to say. 

 

"I'm fine. How are you?" Sansa sounded polite but distant, as if speaking to an acquaintance. "Did you leave yet?" 

 

"No, just about to, though. I wanted to talk to you first. Where are you?"

 

"Oh. At home. What did you want to talk about?" She seemed so unconcerned, it was jarring. Compared to the version of Sansa he was used to, with her warm voice, her sweetness, the newly casual tone of her voice threw him off. 

 

Jon grimaced. “Uh, well, there wasn’t time to talk after the wedding. You left so quickly, we didn’t have a chance...”

 

“Yes, well.” Sansa paused. “You seemed rather preoccupied.” 

 

Jon thought, with a stab of regret, of the conversation he had made her stay through with Daenerys. “Sorry you had to be there for that. That was… you didn’t need to hear that. Having you there helped, though. Kept me from doing anything stupid.”

 

Sansa was silent for a moment. “Jon, if you wanted to get back together with Daenerys, I wouldn’t have stopped you.”

 

Jon frowned, not quite understanding. “I didn’t want to.”

 

“It’s your choice.”

 

“I know. But I didn’t want to.”

 

“She’s your girlfriend.”

 

“No, she’s my ex-girlfriend.” Jon felt slightly irritated, and a bit lost. “Sansa, I don’t want to get back together with Dany. It’s over with her. I’ve moved on.”

 

“Okay, well. That’s good.” Sansa's voice had smoothed out again, to that unreadable tone, and she didn’t sound completely convinced. 

 

“Yes, it’s good.” 

 

“So, you wanted to talk about something?”

 

Jon sighed. “Yes, I wanted to talk to you after the wedding, but. You know. I’m glad Robb got you home, though.”

 

“Right.” There was a pause. “Is that all?”

 

“No. I just… wanted to thank you, Sansa, for doing me this favour. For being with m—there, this whole time. This past month, I know it’s not been easy for you, so thanks. You’ve been great.” Jon winced. _Great._ Sam was going to kill him if he ever heard tell of this conversation. 

 

“Don’t worry about it. You’ll just have to dedicate a song to me,” she joked lightly. It was the first time she had sounded anything more than distantly polite. 

 

 _I’d dedicate a whole album_ , Jon thought, but that wasn’t something he could say casually. He knew he had the tendency to jump in headfirst without looking, without considering the consequences, and he couldn't mess this up. “I’ll get started on it. D’you want a ballad?”

 

“Maybe something a little faster?”

 

“Ah, I’ll make you some different ones. You can take your pick.” 

 

The idea appealed to him, thinking of her on tour, spending what free time the band had driving between cities to compose some songs. And coming home, maybe they’d sit on the couch in his apartment while Jon played them for her, watching a smile curl Sansa’s pink lips, her blue eyes warm and amused. Leaning over and kissing that smile, sliding his hands into her hair, making her gasp, her hands cupping his jaw.

 

He snapped back to himself. 

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Sansa said. She sounded as if she were trying to finish up the conversation. “Just, have a good tour, Jon. I know it’ll go well.” 

 

“Sansa, wait,” Jon rushed out. “This is— it’s important.”

 

There was the tiniest hitch in her breath on the other end, he could have sworn it. “Yes?”

 

“It’s just, we never talked about what we’d do now. Now that everything’s finished.” Jon paused, but Sansa said nothing. His heart felt like it was beating in his throat, making it difficult to speak. “Spending time together was really… I enjoyed it. I hope you did, too.”

 

“Of course, Jon. It was fun. I had a good time, too.”

 

“We were just getting good at pretending, too. Like a real couple.” Jon caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window above the sink, and grimaced at it. He tried to chuckle, but it sounded incredibly forced. “Maybe we should never break up.”

 

He heard her take a sharp breath. Jon felt like his heart had stopped beating. 

 

Sansa said nothing for an agonisingly long second. 

 

“What…” Sansa breathed, almost too softly for Jon to hear.

 

“Sorry, that was— that would be a laugh, wouldn’t it?” he sped on, embarrassment rising up his neck in a hot flush. He willed her to disagree. He felt like he was floundering under his own terrible conversational skills. “I’d owe you a whole album, then.”

 

“You don’t owe me anything. Jon, I helped you because I wanted to,” Sansa finally said. Her voice was impossible to read, but her meaning was clear enough. “I did it because… that’s what a friend does.”

 

“A friend, yeah—” Jon cleared his throat, disappointment twisting up his stomach. _A friend_. It wasn’t where he wanted to be but if that’s all Sansa wanted, that’s what he would be. “Right. Of course. Sorry, I’ve just not been in this situation before. Never broken up with someone I wasn’t dating.”

 

“I’ll take care of it.” 

 

“You don’t have to.” Jon didn’t want to dump the burden onto her when she had already done so much. He wished he could see her face, that they had been able to have this conversation face-to-face. Over the phone, everything was too hard to guess. "And no rush on it, we can wait until I get back—

 

“I’ll talk to Petyr about it, and I’ll let you know when's the best time,” Sansa cut across him. She sounded impossibly _polite_. “Have a great tour, Jon.”

 

“Sansa—”

 

“Sorry, I really have to go. ‘Bye.”

 

Jon closed his mouth on the protest he was about to make. Disappointment was a leaden weight in his stomach. “Goodbye.” 

 

A second before she hung up, Jon swore he heard the unsteady breath of someone about to cry, and pain arrowed through him at the sound, as if someone had stabbed him right in the heart. 

 

It was agonising, not being able to see her. He wanted to reach out to her, to know that she was alright. Pulling the phone from his ear, he nearly rung her back immediately, but stopped before he could press _Call_. She wouldn’t want that.  

 

Jon stared at his reflection in the window. He felt like there was a rock in his throat, choking him.  

 

There was nothing but silence and the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. Slim proof that it was still beating, when he felt so sure it should have stopped. 

 

-

 

Jon slumped down on the couch cushions of the tour bus, exhausted. 

 

It had been twelve weeks straight of shows, driving through the night to the next location, set-up, soundcheck, the interminable wait, the performance, encore, backstage to sign things or greet sponsors, friends, rich douches who had gotten backstage passes, and the inevitable groupie, then back to sleep on the bus (alone), and repeat. 

 

It wasn’t that the tour wasn’t fun, or exciting. When Jon went up on stage, the lights dimmed low and the crowd screaming in the dark, the anticipation running hot through his veins was enough to wipe out all other thoughts from his mind. And during the performance he could think of nothing but what song they were playing, what was next; all he could hear was his voice and their music echoing around the stadiums, concert halls, across the fields of the festival. 

 

Adrenaline carried him through every performance like the shot of a bullet straight from the barrel, nothing but the target in sight.

 

It was only after, when the screech of the feedback was ringing in his ears and echoes of the stage lights were swimming in front of his eyes, that Jon would find his thoughts drifting back. 

 

Always to Sansa. Her voice close to his ear, her soft smile, how she would pause sometimes before saying something heartfelt like she needed to be sure it was true before she spoke. 

 

As the gentle rocking of the bus on the long roads lulled the band and crew all to quiet, Jon fell asleep dreaming of kissing her, the time it had felt most real, some impossible emotion sparking between them. 

 

They had texted throughout the tour, he and Sansa. When he first sent her a photo of the mad chaos that had already erupted inside of the band’s tour bus by the second day, with **_i think there’s a bus in here, somewhere. i miss home already_** , he figured it was a long shot. Last they spoke, it seemed like she didn’t want to speak to him. 

 

But to his surprise, she had replied quickly: **_that’s not your house? :)_ **

 

He laughed. Even if he couldn’t see her, he knew that faux-innocent tone.

 

 **_cheeky. if i go missing, you’ll find my body under there_ ** _,_ he had sent immediately back.

 

Sansa’s reply was just as quick. **_i’ll tell the search party to bring a pitchfork ;)_ **

 

Jon shook his head, something about the winking face making his heart beat a little bit faster. **_better make it a forklift_ **

 

After a week, they were exchanging messages every day.

 

When he asked Sam if texting every day was normal, Sam had just shot him a weird look. “Yeah, friends text. I know _you_ don’t really, ‘cause I swear most times you’d forget where your phone was if I didn’t keep an eye on it. But yeah.”

 

So, it was perfectly normal for _friends_ to text. To send each other pictures of random things they saw, or things that made them think of each other (this was mostly him, to Sansa. He tried to tone it down, because he couldn’t very well send her a picture of _everything_ , accurate though that might have been). And she always, always texted him back.

 

He liked this way of talking with her, hearing her wit in the way she composed a message, her quick humour. The little glimpses he caught of her when she sent videos of what she was doing that day. Doing the weekly shop, taking care of her massive collection of plants, her cooking experiments. 

 

But he missed seeing her face, hearing her voice. It was different than his other friends, Robb or Tormund or Arya. His heart didn't race when he sent them messages. He didn't stay up late most nights when he should have been asleep to prepare for the next day's performance, talking to them. He didn't fall asleep with his phone in his hand texting with them until 2AM. 

 

At Sam’s insistence, he had even gone on Instagram, though Sansa didn’t post much there, at least nothing that seemed like it was actually her, not some social media manager. Sometimes there were posed shots of her, at this premiere or that film industry event. She was always perfectly styled, beautiful and smiling in a way that didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

 

It was her, but it wasn’t _her_. 

 

And the strangest thing of all was this: they hadn't broken up. There had been no press release, no gossip columns (well, there'd always be gossip columns, but nothing of _them_ in the magazines). Jon hadn’t received the promised death threats by any of the Stark siblings. Those pictures of the two of them were still on her profile. What it meant, he didn't know. It was unfair, the amount of hope that it gave him. 

 

And yet throughout the tour, Jon hadn’t called her. Something told him to hold off on it until he could see her face when he asked her about that moment. The sound of that catch in her breath, the tears he felt certain were about to fall. He needed to know if it was true or if it all had just been his imagination.

 

 _Could it already be real, if I hadn't fucked up in the asking?_  

 

Being away from Sansa made him realise how much he missed her. How he was already falling in love with her, had been since she had squeezed his hand at the restaurant after their first date, smiling at him through his nerves. 

 

The time apart had the additional benefit of making it easier to move past Dany and their final, painful breakup. It hurt, in expected and unexpected ways, to think of their broken relationship but less and less all the time. It was clearer to him, now, how his feelings for Dany and Sansa had been twisted up inside of him at the end.

 

And now Direwolf’s tour was up, they had played their last show in the Tower of Joy Theatre in Dorne, and were on their way back to King’s Landing.

 

 _And to Sansa._  

 

Jon stared at his phone, trying to figure out what to do next. What to say, how to say it. Finally, he decided the best way was the simplest. 

 

**_On our way back to KL now, should be back tonight. Are you free tomorrow?_ **

 

He hesitated for a moment before adding on, **_I miss you_ **

 

Sansa had told him she had an interview that afternoon and a dinner meeting with an independent studio, Tarth Productions, on a new project. Jon was nearly asleep on the couch in the tour bus when his phone buzzed next to his head with her reply.

 

**_Just let me know when :) glad you’re back. I’ve missed you too_ **

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa paced back and forth across the Dornish tiles in her kitchen, before taking the stairs down into the living room and dropping herself onto the couch. After a moment, she pulled herself up until she was sitting up straight against the velvet cushions, and arranged the long skirt of her dress around her legs. It was nearly eleven, and Jon would be arriving any moment. 

 

Just thinking it made Sansa’s heart race in her chest, even as she told it to calm down. There really was no reason for it to be so excited. In theory, today would be the day she and Jon broke up, or at least talked about doing so. Even though they had messaged each other almost every day for the past three months, sometimes just once or twice, and sometimes full, long conversations, they had never once brought up the spectre of the breakup that had marred the last time they spoke. Or perhaps it had just been marred to Sansa. 

 

Sansa tried not to think of that moment, when she had sat in her room, struggling to keep her voice even just to say, “Goodbye,” while her eyes met the gaze of her reflection, tears spilling silently down her cheeks. It was good they hadn’t had that conversation face-to-face, or Sansa would have never been able to keep her composure long enough to speak. 

 

What she would do, when Jon asked her why she had never told Petyr to release news of their breakup (she had never told Petyr any of it at all), she had no idea. 

 

And yet here she was, twelve weeks later, asking Jon to come round to hers for coffee and breakfast. To speak face-to-face. She had never felt less prepared. 

 

The doorbell chimed through the house and Sansa started, feeling her heartbeat tick up. She was up and hurrying up to the door before she could even think. Only when she had her hand on the doorknob did she take a second, trying vainly to calm down. It was impossible. 

 

Brushing her hair out of her face with one hand, she pulled open the door. “Hi.”

 

Jon, in his beat up leather jacket and black jeans, his hair pushed back from his face by a pair of sunglasses, stood on her doorstep. He looked up at her, a nervous smile at the corner of his lips. “Hi,” he replied in his low, soft voice. 

 

It was only then that Sansa realised just how much she had missed him over the past couple months. Before she could even really think about it, she had stepped down to him, thrown her arms around his shoulders and hugged him tight. 

 

Jon took no time at all to wrap his arms around her waist in response. He pulled her up against him until she could feel the quick rise and fall of his chest against hers, the warmth that emanated from him. 

 

Closing her eyes, she pressed her face into his neck, breathing in the clean scent of his cologne. Her heart squeezed tight at the familiar scent and she felt her eyes prick with tears. 

 

 _Oh Gods, this will be hard,_ she thought. _To let this go._

 

Jon leaned in and pressed his face into her hair. He released a shuddery breath. Neither seemed to want to let the other go, holding each other tightly, but eventually Sansa pulled back just enough to look at Jon’s face. He looked tired, as anyone would after three months on the road, but he was smiling with real joy in his dark eyes. 

 

“Missed you so much,” Jon murmured. “Gods, Sansa…”

 

Sansa felt a shaky smile spread across her lips. She could barely speak, her heart felt so full and so nearly-broken at the same time. “I’ve missed you, too.”

 

She nearly leaned in then and kissed him, pressed a kiss to those soft lips without regard to what it would mean, what he would realise about her feelings, how long they had been growing. How freeing it would be, to just do something without regard to the consequences. But she held back, just drinking in the sight of him, with her again, at last. 

 

His beard had grown a bit longer, his hair pushed behind his sunglasses a bit wilder, and he looked as if he could probably sleep for another week. And yet he was still so beautiful to her, his gaze full of warmth and his real voice so welcome after weeks and weeks of him gone. And he was watching her back. 

 

Sansa realised her hands were cupped around the back of his neck, still, and his hands were a warm weight on her waist. They were staring at each other as if they expected the other to say something.

 

Sansa shook her head. “Come in. Sorry, I’ve just…” _—been thinking of kissing you—_ “I’ve just put the food out.” Her hands slipped from his neck, and Jon slowly released her waist. “You’re going to get to try something I’ve never really done before, so I hope it’s alright. Should be edible, at least.”

 

Jon followed her inside, chuckling softly. “It’s been about four weeks, minimum, of just whatever the local market had on half-price, so you can’t know how much I’ve been looking forward to this. Had to fight Sam ‘n Gilly off from following me when I mentioned it.”

 

“Well, lucky you know someone willing to cook something up,” Sansa said with a cheeky grin over her shoulder.

 

Jon smiled, and his gaze traced over her face. “Lucky me.”

 

Her heart skipped a beat at his serious tone. 

 

Sansa led the way through the kitchen and down past the living room. She had set up the table on the small balcony that overlooked King’s Landing. 

 

Even though it was late September, it was a beautiful morning. Light spilled across the red tiled roofs of the lower city and reflected sharply blue across the faraway cut of Blackwater Bay. In the distance the Kingswood glimmered vermillion and gold with autumn colour. 

 

Sansa wondered briefly what the meadow set in the centre of the Kingswood would look like now, its oak trees’ dark branches smothered in auburn foliage, the air full of the scent of pine and the ground brilliant with fallen leaves. The lights of Alanna and Rhaenys’ wedding had long been taken down, and the night would be quiet and sharp with the wind coming off Blackwater Bay, the navy skies full of stars. How different it might be, now, to walk with Jon through the trees on those winding paths. 

 

Sansa closed her eyes on the fantasy and turned away from the view and back to the real Jon, who was watching her and waiting to sit until she had taken her seat. Her heart beat a little faster at the image.

 

She motioned for him to sit and sat on the other side of the small table. She hadn’t been able to decide what to make, so she had ended up making too much. There were bowls of berries and sliced melon, a carafe of coffee, freshly toasted bread under a napkin and a covered pot of the spicy tomato and egg dish she had been learning to make. 

 

Jon looked across the view of the city and the full table and finally, at her. He looked a little overwhelmed. “Sansa, this is…”

 

“Too much?”

 

Jon shook his head. “No, it’s perfect. Thank you.”

 

Sansa felt pride nestle warmly in her chest at the compliment. “Of course. I’m glad you’re home.”

 

Jon’s smile deepened. “I’m glad, too.”

 

She thought it would be awkward for them to be together in one place, after so long apart. But after a few moments of adjustment, they were back to their regular, comfortable relationship. Jon traded stories of the tour with Sansa’s of the interviews, meetings, and the occasional photoshoot she had done over the course of their time apart. 

 

Of course she had thought of him over the last three months. Everyday, in fact. Imagining what it would be like when she finally saw him again, if she would be over the feelings that had started from a small seed of a crush and turned into a lush, blooming garden through their short time together. Wondering if he felt anything the same, or if he missed her at all. 

 

After he left, she had thought he wouldn’t want to talk to her. After she said she would announce their breakup, why would he? She had fulfilled her promise, she had helped him as much as he had asked her to. 

 

That deeper feelings had formed wasn't something he should have been concerned with, were not his responsibility. That he had messaged her that second day apart, that he had continued to send messages, always responding to hers, sharing pictures of the different stadiums he was at, the messes Sam and Gilly had made of their tour bus, the antics of the stage crew with Jon’s own commentary, meant much more to her than she thought it must for him. 

 

It was friendly, it was what friends did, sharing stories, pictures, things that made them think of one another. And yet having him back with her, eating her food and smiling with her, his legs tangled with hers under the table as they talked, she knew it was impossible. 

 

Not that they could be friends— that much was, hopefully, a given. What was impossible was her thinking she was even the slightest bit over him. And she wanted to enjoy the strange in-between place they were at, not-together but not-broken-up, for just a little bit longer. 

 

After they finished breakfast, Sansa realised she still hadn’t brought up the issue. She looked at Jon, sitting across the table, his dark curls waving softly in the breeze, his gaze out somewhere over the city, and wanted this to never end. But it had to.

 

Leaning forward, she opened her mouth to speak, and faltered. 

 

She couldn’t.

 

Jon looked over at her. He raised his eyebrows. “Do you want help clearing this up?” he asked, waving his hands over the emptied dishes. 

 

Sansa let out a breath. “Sure, thank you.”

 

They gathered up the dishes and carried them up into the kitchen, Jon following behind Sansa up the stairs. 

 

Sansa wondered if this would be the first and last time he would be here, alone with her. It would probably be too awkward, after. 

 

The thought made her heart shudder, and her hands slipped on the dishes, making them clatter into the sink. She swore softly under her breath. Quickly, she set the cups upright and started stacking the plates neatly together. 

 

Jon stepped up beside her and set his dishes on the counter next to the sink. His hand touched her waist lightly. “Are you alright?”

 

Sansa looked up at him, a little more sharply than she thought. “Yes, I’m fine.” His concerned gaze was too difficult to match, and she looked away. 

 

Why was this so hard? She took a few steps away, until she felt the warm press of his hand against her waist slip away. It felt like everything was ending and she just wanted _more time_. Why was there never enough time? 

 

“Sansa?”

 

She looked back at Jon, who was looking at her with genuine concern. She felt the words rise up, _we need to talk about how we’re going to break up,_  and her heart felt like it was splitting in two. 

 

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Jon said. He looked guilty, somehow, and Sansa’s stomach twisted with unease. 

 

“What?”

 

“It’s about… about us breaking up.”

 

“No, Jon, I— I have to say something first.” She wouldn’t be able to do it if he had noticed her feelings and wanted to tell her they needed to be apart, if he told her was still thinking of Dany. He could tell her that after, after she got this terrible burden off of her chest. 

 

“Please.” She added when he looked about to protest.

 

Jon bit his lip and shifted on his feet. But his gaze remained on her, and he waited until she could gather enough courage to speak. Her heart swelled painfully at how he listened to her, respected her words. 

 

“Jon, I’ve… this time we’ve spent together, it’s all felt very real.” Sansa looked over at him, but he said nothing. “And I want to apologise, because I know this isn’t what you intended at all but I’ve just, being with you, it’s…it’s too much.”

 

“Sansa, I never meant…”

 

Sansa shook her head and cut across his words. Her heart felt like it was about to split in half, and she was speaking past a growing lump in her throat. If she didn’t do this now, she never would. “I like you. Not just as a friend, but more than that. It’s the reason I haven’t told anyone we’re supposed to be breaking up. I just wanted to—”

 

Jon stepped closer. “Sansa,” he said softly, one hand raising up to cup her cheek. He seemed lost for words.

 

“—pretend like we were together for a little while longer,” Sansa breathed. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Sansa, you have nothing to apologise for.” His dark eyes were trained on hers, and something of a smile caught at the corner of his lips. “I’ve wanted this to be real almost from the beginning.” 

 

Jon looked at her, almost embarrassed. As if his words didn’t make her heart race, hope swelling in her chest. “Please, don’t apologise. I should have said it, should have told you. This whole time, I was the one— you offered to help, and I should have never taken advantage of that—”

 

Sansa couldn’t help it, she laughed. Hope sparked to joy raced quickly through her veins, made the world seem brighter and softer all at once. At Jon’s wounded look, she put her hands on his shoulders and pulled him in closer. “Jon, I want to be with you. For real.”

 

Jon’s gaze traced lovingly over face, and he grasped her waist with one warm hand. “You do?” he asked, voice soft, hopeful.

 

“Yes,” Sansa replied, voice full of emotion. “Do you want that?”

 

“Yes.” He pulled her closer, pressing his forehead to hers. He closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Yes, so much.”

 

“Good,” Sansa said softly, sliding her hands up to cup his jaw. “So do I.”

 

Her heart felt ready to beat from her chest and she wanted so badly to kiss him for real, no one else around this time, no pretending, no pretense between them. And she could.

 

She leaned in and kissed him, and it was if the kiss woke him up. Jon slid his hand up her back and cupped the back of her neck gently, holding her close to him. His lips were soft and he kissed her gently, like he was afraid she would pull away. 

 

Sansa slid her hands up into his hair and pulled him in, until she could feel his heart beating next to hers, so fast under his chest, like he was nervous, too, and a smile broke out over her lips. She pulled away, close enough to feel his breath on her cheek and his hands were holding her firmly up against him and this was it, this was _real_. There was no one around to see them, no photographers or fans, no pretense to be had. This was just the two of them, together, wanting each other.

 

“What’re you smiling about?” Jon murmured against her lips as he leaned in to kiss them again. His eyes were half-hooded and dark, his voice reverberating up her chest.

 

She laughed softly, keeping her lips just an inch from his. “I’m just happy.”

 

Jon’s gaze softened, full of tenderness. “Me, too.” 

 

“And thinking I’ll have to tell Arya to call off the assassination attempt she has planned for you.”

 

Jon groaned, in mock annoyance. “Gods, don’t talk about her right now. Can we just, I dunno, kiss for a second?”

 

Sansa pulled away with a frown. 

 

Jon let her go reluctantly. He looked worried. “I’m sorry. That was—”

 

Sansa felt her straight face break with a laugh she couldn’t quite keep down. Jon’s eyebrows rose. 

 

“Race you to the couch,” she said quickly, and turned. Again, she was a lot quicker than Jon, but before she made it to the couch she turned around and there he was.

 

With a smile, Jon scooped her up, and she laughed. He held her tightly to him, his answering laughter against her skin. He spun her around and sat down with her sprawled across his lap, her arms tight around his shoulders.

 

“I win,” he said breathlessly. “What do I get?”

 

Sansa shrugged loosely. “Whatever you want.”

 

“Can I have you?” he asked, even as he leaned in and kissed her softly, just a brush across her lips. “If you’ll have me, for real?”

 

Her heart felt full, and impossibly happy. “Is that a promise?” she murmured, answering his kiss with one more intent.

 

As she pulled back, Jon’s eyes flashed up to hers. “Yes,” he said, very serious.

 

Sansa smiled softly. “Then, yes. For real.”

 

 

  
  
THE END


End file.
